


THE GAMES PEOPLE PLAY by ETHAN BELLAMY

by vanhunks



Category: Star Trek: Voyager
Genre: Absolute romance, F/M, Sexual Fantasy, Why do they hate each other so?
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2020-12-07
Updated: 2020-12-17
Packaged: 2021-03-09 18:27:30
Rating: Teen And Up Audiences
Warnings: Creator Chose Not To Use Archive Warnings
Chapters: 11
Words: 31,732
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/27940751
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/vanhunks/pseuds/vanhunks
Summary: Months after Voyager returned to the Alpha Quadrant, senior members of the Voyager crew were extremely concerned at the broken relationship between Janeway and Chakotay which started roughly two months before they returned home. The once celebrated friendship was no more and it seemed they hate each other. What happened that changed them so? They commission the Federation's premier author ETHAN BELLAMY to knock their heads together!
Relationships: Chakotay/Kathryn Janeway
Comments: 80
Kudos: 46





	1. INTRODUCTION

**Author's Note:**

> AUTHOR'S NOTE: 
> 
> Some time ago I wrote three very sexually charged vignettes called "Command Performance", "After the Ping" and "Velocity" in which Janeway and Chakotay try to outdo one another playing sexual games and indulging in sexual fantasies. They referred to those incidents as little games they played. Recently I decided to tie all three short fics into a longer novella called "The Games People Play". I incorporated elements of all three stories and also added one or two more. I have meanwhile deleted those vignettes from the 'net. 
> 
> Readers who have read my story ETHAN BELLAMY may remember the title character from that story. I have borrowed Ethan from that story and created a new "Ethan-verse" for this one. His fortunes therefore are not exactly the same as in the original "Ethan Bellamy" novel. 
> 
> ACKNOWLEDGEMENT: Mary Stark, friend.
> 
> ORDER: There are 11 chapters and I'll be posting a chapter a day. 
> 
> DISCLAIMER: Janeway, Chakotay and other Voyager characters, the vessel Voyager are the property of Paramount. I do own "Ethan Bellamy".

* * *

CHAPTER 1 INTRODUCTION

I don't think there has ever been a time that I wasn't intrigued by people. Sitting on a bench in the grounds of the great Smithsonian, watching visitors approach the imposing buildings, I'd see expectation on their faces, or curiosity from off-worlders, a twist of the mouth that would - to me at least - indicate the recollection of a painful memory. Then I'd always wonder about the story behind a face or expression and the sagas that would flow from such an expression. I was a young Academy cadet then, with hopes of being published, for telling stories had become my lifeblood.

More than anything - now serving as first officer on a constitution class vessel - I pictured myself sitting in my deep chair and conjuring up tales of woe, of despair and sadness, of great achievements and descent into madness. I'd imagine the conflict of understanding the divide between poet and prince or the union of both. I'd create heroes and heroines who would be defined by their strengths, their weaknesses, their leadership, the triumphs and failures that would shape them and those decisions that would break them.

Stories that would be whimsical, tragic, heroic, tales that charged at the heart of the reader, and most of all, impart a sense of reliving the tale himself, of being right there and agonise, rage, rejoice with the characters. Yes, that had been my dream from the moment I saw a little girl sitting on a swing in a park, thinking what sadness lurked in her expressive blue-grey eyes. I was only seven years old then and looking at her I wondered what wounded her so. Even now I remember the golden hair drawn back in an engaging ponytail , her fair skin, her childish face, hands that appeared to clutch the chains of the swing, her little knuckles whitening at the force of her hold. A storm of words poured from me as I imagined the darkness that enveloped her. I wrote and the urge to create never left me.

Like an oracle, I believed I knew what tormented people by a simple touch so unobtrusive it might not have been a touch at all. Then their entire lives were laid bare, visible only to me. I observed men and women walking along a plaza and imagined the things that drove them - love, tragedy, hate, anger, the sadness of accepting change often seen in the despair etched upon their faces. Perhaps not so much despair as a cry for understanding. And then the stories formed in my head and they visited me in the deep of night while I slept, intruding on my dreams. I'd get up and play a few arpeggios on my cello before easing into the gentle strains of a Faure sonata - so soothing - as characters played around in my head, loathed to leave until I'd hammered out scenes of my latest story.

While people attempted to hide their emotions and even managed to do so successfully, the irony never escaped me - something troubled them. Always something! Perhaps friends, near and dear like family might suspect things best left concealed, these individuals have always provided me with stories as yet untold.

I continue with this introduction in the exploration of two individuals I was commissioned to study. I'd heard, like every officer in the Federation, of the extraordinary return of a starship long believed lost.

Like so many people I was just as intrigued months ago by the return of the _USS Voyager_ , an intrepid class vessel that had been lost in the Delta Quadrant and quite unexpectedly reappeared seven years later in the Alpha Quadrant via a Borg transwarp conduit. Guided to the Alpha Quadrant by her gifted command team, Voyager's return was the stuff great novels were written about. Like a hungry dog, I'd practically guzzled all the newsfeeds pertaining to the event, even as I was serving on the _USS Louanda_ at the time. I'd walk along the corridors and it seemed Voyager created a buzz among the crew of fresh exciting news to feed their starving curiosities. There was lightness in the steps of those who passed me, looking at me as though I was the king of scuttlebutt. Clearly, they assumed that a first officer of a constitution class vessel who happened to be a writer should know everything. Never speaking a word to me, I knew that they'd all speculated about the crew of Voyager, of relationships formed and broken, of mourning, loss and mostly, her command team - Janeway and Chakotay. Speculation was rife about _them_. Crew drooled over the high romance they conjured about those two. I knew something about Janeway at least - her fiancé Mark Johnson married my cousin Wanda, but that was a conversation for another time.

Then, months later, my editor called me to a meeting the moment the _Louanda_ docked at Earth's orbital station. I was to meet with him at his hideout in Hallstatt, a picturesque Alpine village in Austria. It's a peaceful place, its beauty causing pained gasps in visitors who seek to repose there after a stressful week, a time away from bosses who bayed, spouses who nagged, deadlines… Nestled against the mountain, the village overlooks Lake Hallstatt, its gleaming waters in the late afternoon sun nothing but breathtakingly miraculous. Naturally, Hallstatt village could never compete with Beaver's Lodge in Curry County, Oregon in the Pacific Northwest. I usually returned to my lodge after every mission to soak in the peace of my surroundings - alone, just me, the beavers, my cello. This time Kjel called. Wouldn't say why, leaving me to speculate like mad.

"Something you'd be interested in, Ethan," he'd said in that soft wheedling voice of his. Damn, sometimes I want to throttle the man.

My curiosity knew no bounds. A story was appearing out of thin air it seemed, with all sorts of characters, plot points, themes and conflicts dancing around in my head. Or did Kjel Y Badr have something else up his sleeve? I'd done a few book signings because he'd practically ordered me out of hiding. Some Earth-bound humans and Vulcans relished the feel of books in their hands, meeting the author, that sort of public relations thing. Kjel was very happy with sales from my latest novel, so why call me now when he didn't really need to?

Unless.

The conjectures and possible story outlines suddenly froze into nothingness the second I entered Kjel's lounge. It disappointed me, having to leave them all behind! Familiarity waived such mundane things as pressing chimes when entering Kjel's house.

I was utterly surprised to see Admiral Owen Paris, his son Tom Paris and another officer of Voyager. She was introduced to me as Lieutenant B'Elanna Torres, Tom's wife. Kjel, effusive as always, introduced me to them. What were they doing in Kjel's home? I wondered where my outlines and stories had flown to prior to meeting with Kjel. Suddenly there was nothing! Hopefully not for long!

Members of Starfleet Command and returnees from the Delta Quadrant were the last people I expected to see in Kjel Y Badr's home and it piqued my interest - a strange yet familiar frisson traveling through my body. Whatever it was, was never to be ignored as a possible new tale on my creative horizon.

Admiral Paris was a reader of my works and called himself a proud owner of signed copies of _Songs of a Wayfarer_ and _Warrior Mine._ He knew me from our Wolf 359 days and had since maintained contact with me. I had no time to feel an overblown sense of pride. I wrote so that people could read. That was the deal. My contract was with my reader and if the good admiral liked what he read, that satisfied me. But why were they there?

The admiral's and Kjel's effusive greeting had my hackles rising instantly. They wanted something, that much was clear. Tom Paris and B'Elanna Torres were more reserved as they acknowledged my presence. I sensed it was not about my proposed new work or book signings which I hated anyway or delivering a talk at some university. Four pairs of eyes speared me as if I were a messiah arriving on a chariot of fire to deliver them from misery as possibly the only living creature in the universe with an answer to their prayers.

Then the talking started. They seemed to fall over themselves to deliver their requests. I shook my head at the Babel of confusion. My ears strained to catch whole phrases and sentences from individuals until I raised my hand to slow them down a bit. Actually it wasn't that bad but I had this image of a group of kids trying to convince a parent they'd seen a yeti on their front lawn.

The moment they started making sense, a spectacular story unfolded before me. Their quest: Ethan Bellamy, writer, cellist and starship officer to write the story of Kathryn Janeway and Chakotay, commanding officers of the USS Voyager, lately returned to the Alpha Quadrant. I had to intrude on their most private moments, thoughts and sensibilities to find out what it was that made them _strangers to one another_. I could understand Kjel who saw in everything the possibility of a new saga. But the Paris trio appeared more concerned about the fate of their command team, worry etched on their faces, imploring me to be the answer to their plight.

I wanted to scream "I'm a writer, not a counsellor!" Still, I remained all ears!

"By the time Voyager docked, you could cut the hate and tension between them with a knife," Tom Paris said, his hand gestures reminding me of my cousin Wanda who constantly gesticulated when she talked. I once asked Wanda whether she'd stop talking if she halted her wild hand gesticulations. Of course, with Tom Paris you kind of expected it, being at the conn of a starship with hands all over the array of panels.

"They were true friends, the absolute best in leadership of our crew, but all that changed in the two months before we returned home. Now, they've each gone their own way and I _know_ Chakotay must love her." Lieutenant Torres' words were as fiery as the anger and exasperation that appeared to rush from her eyes and heated cheeks. Even her ridges seemed to be flaming in consternation.

"When I send them into deep space, Commander Bellamy, they should have ironed out their differences by then," Owen Paris remarked.

"Command team on the same vessel? We're in - "

"I know where we are, Bellamy," Admiral Paris huffed.

"By which time they should declare everlasting love and devotion!" Tom said.

"That too," Admiral Paris blustered. "Whether they're on the same vessel or not."

"I don't do romance," I countered. I delve into characters' psyches, divine their destinies, find points that could end in victory after evolution of their characters through their many and varied experiences. I must write a story about Janeway and Chakotay? I was suddenly intrigued, despite my own lofty ideals about literary writing and not giving in to melodramatic little love tales.

"We believe that you can do something, Commander Bellamy, to knock those heads together and let them sit at the same table - "

"Preferably in the morning after…you know what I mean," said Tom.

"They are both allergic to counsellors and counselling," said B'Elanna, a kind of desperation in her voice.

I tried to think of Kathryn Janeway, pictured her in my mind's eye - the newsfeeds, publications of her and of Commander Chakotay, press hounding them. Once I actually saw her in the gardens of Headquarters. From a distance only, but her bearing, the faraway look in her eyes… I thought she must yearn for space and the stars again. She looked exposed, hurting. A memory assailed me, of a distant time when I was seven and saw a lonely little girl on a swing… Could that have been an earlier version of Kathryn Janeway? When accosted by a passer-by in the garden, Janeway's raw stance changed instantly as she addressed the visitor. And Chakotay, in the presence of a tall, statuesque blonde woman, smiling but his eyes were hard, flinty. Pictures everywhere of them. Janeway hurting and I was to probe the origin of that pain.

Strange how things came to me in the hour I sat talking with Kjel Y Badr, Admiral Paris, Tom and B'Elanna. Like a fractured picture, a shattered mirror, the pieces shifted gently into place.

They laugh, but they weep inside.

"What do you want me to do?" I asked.

"Do what no one else could do - puncture the hard shells they've grown around their hearts. As a writer, you study human emotions. You talk to people and they tell you things without saying a word! Like that! They refuse counselling, and who can blame them? Somewhere, something went radically wrong with them. Let me remind you, Ethan, they are very, very good at hiding their feelings."

"Whatever it takes, Commander Bellamy," said B'Elanna. "There is love there."

Whatever it took.

*

I hastened to Beaver's Lodge to begin outlines and ideas for my new project. By the weekend Rourke would be home from the Academy, looking forward to climbing Coniston Peak and camping out at Deer Lake. Rourke became the centre of my world. Wanda had wanted to take him on an extended excursion and Rourke had been over the moon "going away" with his aunt. What private hell I had been flung into at the time was only moderately ameliorated by the fact that Rourke had not been on the _Bellerophon_ when the Borg destroyed it and Mélisande and Piers died.

"You're going to write about Voyager, Dad?" Rourke asked while we were climbing. The weekend had arrived faster than I expected and Rourke's arrival simply surprised me out of practical hibernation.

"Indeed. My new project. Setting up interviews with some Voyager crew. The captain and commander will probably be last on my list." Too early yet to let him know that my mission was more than just Voyager; it was to knock two heads together.

"Admiral Janeway is teaching quantum mechanics. She's …maybe a bit sad, I think. I can see it in her eyes."

I turned to Rourke, whose green eyes mirrored my own - quite a shock to see it on someone else. He looked earnest.

"I heard Captain Chakotay is also teaching at the Academy - "

"Only senior cadets full time, Dad. He teaches us on a short term basis only. A few classes. We love it, me and James."

"James?"

"Lieutenant Rollins' son. His dad married Marla Gilmore…"

I thought that was good to know. Perhaps ask Admiral Paris to pull a string or two…

At the end of the weekend with aching muscles after climbing Mount Coniston, Rourke returned to the Academy while I set about moving around pieces of a giant jigsaw puzzle which included Voyager, her crew, Janeway and Chakotay and a love that would not die.

It was immense, this journey.

*******************

END CHAPTER 1


	2. THE PHEROMONE FACTOR

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> Ethan Bellamy interviews Tom at their family home Palings.

* * *

CHAPTER 2: THE PHEROMONE FACTOR

"When you're sitting on the bridge at the conn, you develop eyes at the back of your head and ears like bats."

"Bats, huh."

"Yes, bats. Since I cannot see what goes on behind me," said Tom Paris, helmsman of _USS Voyager,_ "I use _echolocation_. I've fine-tuned it to an art, Captain Bellamy."

"Please, call me Ethan. So while you cannot see the command team sitting behind you, you can hear what they say?"

There was the sceptical me thinking how improbable Tom's statement was, and the writer in me who thought it damned amusing. I tried not to laugh just imagining the helmsman's ears pricking at the whisperings going on behind his back.

Lounging in my chair with my PADD in hand, _Voyager's_ chief navigation officer was an amusing conversationalist, not averse to indulging in gossip. Exploring the dynamic of Janeway and Chakotay, I thought my best line of approach would be to speak to those officers and crew around the captain and her first officer who knew them over a period of seven years.

"Okay, Ethan. Thanks. I hear everything, or almost everything. I hear when Tuvok admonishes Harry Kim, or Harry speaking to Seven of Nine whenever _she's_ on the bridge, standing against the rail of the upper level."

"And Captain Janeway and Chakotay? What about them?"

I studied Tom as he sat across from me. Their family estate, Palings, was beautiful, full of leafy lanes with trees in a kaleidoscope of colours in the fall, impossibly breathtaking. It said a lot about the beauty of their property if it could charm me away from Beaver's Lodge. Ten years ago, I had spent a month at Palings recuperating after my escape as a Borg drone from the _USS Bellerophon._ I owed my life and sanity to Admiral Paris and his wife Elizabeth.

Tom Paris had the most startling blue eyes and they narrowed as he prepared his assault explaining what his command team did on the bridge when his back was turned! I primed myself for his attack.

"They whispered all the time. You know the command chairs of _Voyager_ are quite close together, with a console between them. Very, very convivial, most mornings, I can tell you. Most times they entered the bridge together and everyone's spirits rose. The crew was happy because they were happy and we could face another day with hostile aliens chasing us all over the quadrant. They entered the bridge chatting and when they sat down, their hands touched, did you know?"

I didn't know, but simply let Tom carry on.

"And did they touch?"

"I can tell you, Ethan, when they touched, my neck hairs rose. It was as if my bat sensors went into overdrive. I turned just once to greet them and then proceeded to stare at dead space for the rest of the day. They touched often, making everyone think they were studying data on the console, with their heads so close together. But they never fooled me!"

"Except the last two months," I said. "Right?"

"Aye. Then my sensors went haywire. No good feelings whatsoever. All I could feel were daggers shooting between them, though to the world you'd never know it, they were that brilliant."

"Any incident you can specifically recall that was good or great or just plain strange giving rise to the growing animosity between them?"

"Or sexual."

"Okay, you're going to tell me they were having sex on the bridge?"

"Pretty much, if you get my drift."

"Tell me, Tom. This is good."

"You always drink whiskey in the morning?" Tom asked as he stared at my glass on the floor near my feet.

"The sex. And yes, I do. I like it that way."

"And your hair has always been white?"

"And my eyes are green. Tell me about the sex on the bridge, or the _non-sex_ …"

"Yes, that. Once I ran a _Captain Proton_ programme on the holodeck. Now, Chaotica, the villain, wanted Captain Janeway to be his bride. Queen Arachnia is what he called her."

I'd read the logs of Voyager and the Captain Proton program intrigued me. A nineteen fifties imaginings in a twenty fourth century construct.

"What about her?" I asked.

"She carried a vial of pheromones to put Chaotica's guards in a trance, see? I made those pheromones. Got B'Elanna to help me. She laughed her head off before creating the perfume."

Ah, it was getting close in Tom's roundabout way.

"You're telling me you created pheromones to work on any humanoid species and not only holograms?" I asked, somewhat surprised. "And on the bridge? What happened there?"

"Happened about four months before we arrived home. There was Captain Janeway and I swear to God, the woman was releasing a healthy dose of pheromones, Ethan. I think she kept the vial I gave her and suddenly, instead of her normal _Magic Night_ which she always wore, I just knew it was the one B'Elanna and I had created. I couldn't believe it worked outside the holodeck! Captain Janeway wanted that man, I swear! Even I got antsy seeing as I knew what the hell was happening. Couldn't they get a room? I didn't have to turn my head, but I know Tuvok and Harry were engaged in the command performance happening between Captain Janeway and Chakotay. Harry and Tuvok were put in a trance, I tell you, gawking straight at the viewscreen."

Tom Paris sounded deadly earnest, his face flushed with deep emotion. There was no way I could stop the interview and schedule another day until he'd cooled off a bit. While still very emotional, Tom would reveal much more, just what I needed! I sipped the last drops of my whiskey, then looked at the glass wondering where all the whiskey went. Tom raised a hand and from nowhere it seemed, another glass appeared. Tom had introduced me to is best friend earlier. Freyne Detroit, crack helmsman of the _USS Dunkirk_ , an old friend adopted by Tom's parents when Freyne's grandmother died. Freyne nodded before stalking off again in the direction of the big house.

"So, about Janeway's pheromones?" I asked.

"Here's the thing, Ethan. I could smell those pheromones were having a devastating effect on Commander Chakotay. The man was suddenly uncommonly drunk with desire. He's a hard as hell Native American Maquis renegade. _Nothing_ ruffles that man, I tell you, unless he decks you just for mentioning the word mutiny. Chakotay got hot under the collar and everywhere else on his body. Why? Was I the only one who could see a nebula that changed colours the hotter it became? Sorry, man, you know what I mean. There I was, staring at the viewscreen _knowing_ what was going on behind me. I had the best seat in the house. It was watching two people making love in that nebula, moving in amoeboid fashion, all arms and legs, see? The way those pseudopods entwined. I swear to God, Ethan, it was Chakotay's imaginings playing out there for all to see, him making love with the captain. Well, I don't think Tuvok made the connection and Harry… Once he actually asked, 'Is that nebula moving, Tom?' Harry, still remarkably green at times. I was enjoying the view without turning my head to look at the command team. Such great friends they were, playing games with hearts and crosses…"

"So from you, what really went on behind you?" I couldn't help throwing this question sensing pretty well what went down.

"I'm sure he was rubbing his crotch like hell! Then Commander Chakotay suddenly jumped up and rushed to the turbolift. It was the only time I actually turned to look at the sudden movement. Let me just say, Chakotay was having issues walking, okay? And Captain Janeway… God, I have not ever seen such a smirk that didn't sit well on her, like she won a bet, got the edge over him…Or maybe she was embarrassed and hid it, smirking like that."

Tom went suddenly quiet as he remembered that day, a faraway look in his eyes. The light banter, the off-side humour was gone. He appeared as sad as that first day in Kjel's home in Austria, his concern so clear in his whole demeanour. I gained the first inkling how much the senior officers loved Captain Janeway and Chakotay. Tom Paris near to tears as he thought about how a great friendship had derailed.

I waited. I was good at waiting for moments such as these, when the heart of the matter surfaced. I tilted my glass and allowed the light to throw a prism across my face. Whiskey, my lifeblood in the morning.

"They were best friends, a beacon for every relationship formed on Voyager. If you wanted to be a miracle to an unhappy crewman whose friend had bailed on him, all you had to do was watch Janeway and Chakotay together. You wanted to be like them. He was Captain Janeway's moral compass, the one who stood up to her, the one who stood up for her, her confidant, the one who offered solace when a crewman died. To him she went in the deep of night when she couldn't sleep because on any given day our lives were hell out there, and he'd listen to her, let her talk until she fell asleep. In the morning everything was right as rain and their banter was a blessing for everyone who watched them as they made their way to the bridge. You want to tell me that isn't love?"

"So why the charade?" I asked, taking a sip from my glass.

"I think they were both afraid, you know? Of being vulnerable, of showing what they really needed from one another - affection, devotion, not to let things like duty and command stand in the way of love. So their friendship cascaded into games of one-upmanship. The more the games continued, the harder it became to reclaim their old camaraderie and deep friendship. Yes, that was what it was. Suddenly it seemed they were no longer friends…"

I left Palings that day feeling deeply troubled by what Tom had told me. So early in my investigations and already I sensed what a unique friendship unfolded before me. Suddenly my quest to find out more about what I now knew to be an undying friendship, intensified.

There was a story to be written.

**

END CHAPTER 2


	3. TURBOLIFT TANGO

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> Ethan speaks with Marla Gilmore.

* * *

At 11:00 Chell and Marla Gilmore made their way to the nearest turbolift on deck 6. They'd worked a double shift and only got a short respite halfway through to eat some of Neelix's stew. For once there was some taste in the food. It was enough to sustain them for the rest of their shift. Tired but feeling animated, they'd kept up conversation from the mess hall, preferring the relaxing walk.

"Chell, what do you think is going on with the captain?" Marla Gilmore asked, drawing the conversation away suddenly from bangles and beads.

Chell rocked to a standstill and balanced on his heels, swaying back and forth, his hands locked behind his back like a school master. Marla thought he looked more like their Reverend McMaster, a doddering old cleric who once ministered at her church.

"There's something wrong with them?" Chell asked.

Marla rolled her eyes and smiled.

"You've been on this vessel longer than me, Chell! I cannot claim such a closeness as you have, although I truly love being part of the Voyager family. You would notice changes in moods based on how they've evolved from day one, right?"

"You could say that, Marla. But we are just lower decks people, see? Nobody really sees us small cogs in the wheel that's _Voyager._ There are times I do not see the bridge officers for almost a week, perhaps longer. But those times we do, it warms our hearts, for we know how they protect us. Commander Chakotay knows every one of us and always makes time for a little chat, especially in the mess hall. Always good to talk to him."

"I understand," said Marla. "But now I'm noticing something. Surely you must too," she persisted. "They're acting really strange, like playing at being friends. Weren't they always great friends?"

"Certainly," replied Chell, settled once more on his feet after his rocking. "Best friends. The captain, she's really a very caring person," he said, to which Marla nodded vigorously. "She has her moods sometimes but Commander Chakotay knows how to get her out of a blue funk, especially when we've been through rough waters, and we have experienced traumatic moments, Marla. Yes, best friends forever is what everyone has agreed upon. Why are you concerned?"

"I'm afraid I still stand very much in awe of both Captain Janeway and Commander Chakotay," Marla responded. "Lately they seem to be thriving on challenges, one trying to outdo the other…"

"How-how do you figure that?"

"When they walk to their quarters or the bridge, he walks away from her, a sudden jerky movement as if they just argued over something. He appears agitated and she has a knowing winning smile on her face, like she won something or he lost something. Is that normal? I have grave concerns, Chell. It's like they’ve played a game that has gone sour…"

"Oh, don't worry so. It will blow over soon and the universe, if it has an axis, will right itself, okay?"

When they reached the turbolift, Chell pressed. The doors swished noiselessly open. Their eyes popped. Chell's blue skin turned darker, almost navy and his jaw dropped. Marla flushed pink as they gazed open-mouthed at the scene in front of them.

Chakotay had pinned Captain Janeway's hands over her head against the wall, her legs spread. He leaned hard into her, body flush with hers, his breath fanning her face. Marla could even see wisps of Captain Janeway's hair quivering as Chakotay breathed. He ground his hips against her in a rhythmic movement. She tried to break free but it just fanned his aggression so he pushed harder, more aggressively. 

"Damn you to hell, Chakotay. I won't give in," Janeway hissed, her eyes shooting daggers.

"Fuck you, Janeway. You played first, so pay the price for once. You've had me coming off second best enough times."

Then he locked his lips to hers in a punishing kiss. Janeway struggled at the onslaught as Chakotay kept grinding his hips against her.

That moment Chell coughed.

Janeway and Chakotay jumped apart, consternation on their faces, the captain blushing a deep red. Chakotay recovered first as he turned on the two witnesses.

"Get the hell away from here!" he yelled.

They scurried from the turbolift as fast as their feet could carry them, heading for the next nearest access. They left Commander Chakotay brimming with rage and Captain Janeway sighing with shame. Marla wondered whether they carried on their little turbolift tango, or whether they stopped cold.

Out of breath as they reached the next access, she turned to look at Chell. His portly stomach seemed to rumble, a churning she could practically hear.

Chell burst out laughing for a full minute before he stopped, his eyes streaming with tears of mirth. Marla couldn't help but smile too, but the whole situation disturbed her. She had never ever seen Commander Chakotay and the captain behave so out of turn. They were the ship's commanders setting an example for the crew. Chakotay was all over Captain Janeway, an offense in which he clearly emerged the winner.

"Never heard Commander Chakotay use such profane language to Captain Janeway, no less!" Chell said, suddenly serious.

"Chell, not a word to anyone, you hear? We need to preserve their privacy and their dignity…"

But Marla Gilmore, one of the Equinox Five, remained thoughtful about what she and Chell had seen, more concerned that incidents they’d witnessed were being recounted by others on Voyager. All were troubled that what they saw was not normal.

****

My promotion to captain had come with some reluctance on my part soon after I visited Kjel y Badr at his home in Austria. I was happy being first officer of the _Louanda,_ I told Admiral Paris. Rourke was in his first year at the Academy and there was nothing more satisfying than being with my son on weekends. Weekly communication on subspace bands was never quite as exhilarating as being in one another's real time company. Besides, we got to do things together.

"Commander," Admiral Paris huffed, "it's high time you took the promotion you were offered _years_ ago. Eight years ago, as a matter of fact. You deserve it, after what you'd been through."

I accepted, and didn't look back. Now I listened intently to Marla Gilmore-Rollins recounting an episode in which they'd accidently stumbled upon Captain Janeway and Commander Chakotay in the turbolift of _Voyager_.

The _USS Oregon_ was a constitution class vessel with a crew complement of 950, heading to Kordoran Prime in the Gamma Quadrant and I was glad that five of _Voyager's_ former crew had been recruited to serve on the _Oregon_. Knowing how much they all loved _Voyager,_ Admiral Paris had commissioned them to serve on my vessel after I'd told him I needed to interview some former _Voyagers_ to get enough background in my research _._ _Voyager_ was still lagging at McKinley Station where Commander Tuvok kept a watchful eye on the ship's systems and protected Borg technology.

The moment Chell, Marla Gilmore-Rollins, Crewman Taggart, Ensign Blakely and Lieutenant Vorik boarded the _Oregon,_ I'd called the five of them to my ready room where I welcomed them aboard the new vessel and also addressed my intention of interviewing them for my _Voyager_ novel. A good thing it was since the _Oregon_ would be away for two and a half months. They'd all frowned before they were dismissed and I could hear their whispers as they exited the ready room. They were probably speculating about what I wanted to discuss with them. I'd already spoken to numerous crew, told them their information would be confidential, that they not share with others what came out of the interviews. I told them I was a writer commissioned to do a story on Voyager and its exploits in the Delta Quadrant.

Marla Gilmore-Rollins looked a little flustered when she ended her story of what she and Chell had seen on Voyager. It was quite a tale, a not uncommon occurrence especially among lower decks crews, but this was the captain and her first officer indulging in a turbolift tango. I could picture Chakotay and Kathryn Janeway locked in a daring, passionate embrace, one not of passion and love, but clearly a power play of naked aggression which Chakotay was winning.

"Lieutenant Gilmore, I understand you joined the _Voyager_ crew in its fifth year as an officer of the former _USS Equinox._ How did you feel about Captain Janeway at the time and since then?"

Marla shifted on the couch. I don't think she had been this close to any captain except Captain Ransom, whom I knew from _Voyager's_ logs was driven to bring his crew home in a way quite different from Captain Janeway.

"To tell you the honest truth, Captain Bellamy, I was a little afraid of both of them, especially Captain Janeway. When we joined _Voyager_ , everyone knew how she threatened to kill Noah Lessing, my best friend. But as I got to know her better, I realised the kind person she is. Kind and humorous and very fair. She regretted her actions against Noah. He told me later how she approached him in _Voyager's_ hydroponics bay - he used to hide there, such a big, big man! - and Captain Janeway had a long conversation with him. She asked him for forgiveness, Captain Bellamy. She has greatness of heart."

"What about her relationship with Commander Chakotay?"

Marla was quiet a few seconds, collecting her thoughts.

"I wasn't there as long as Chell and the rest of the _Voyager_ crew, Captain Bellamy, but I could see they had great camaraderie," she said eventually. "A sense of friendship greater than we could imagine. We all wanted to be like them…"

I nodded, really liking this reserved officer.

"You married Magnus Rollins, Marla, soon after you arrived home. How did you see your relationship with your husband in relation to Janeway and Chakotay?"

"Magnus and I longed for constancy in our lives. He was a widower with a young preteen son cared for by James's grandmother and I had no real family to speak of. Noah's grandparents were the people I was closest to. I believe there are always benchmarks, people who lead their lives by being great examples in how they treat one another with respect and dignity. Captain Janeway and Commander Chakotay became our flagbearers who led by their excellent example. One moment there'd be strife as he defended his position, but always, come morning, they'd settled their differences. No one held a grudge. We wanted that for us, Captain Bellamy."

Marla was silent a long time before she spoke again, her voice charged with distress.

"I'd see them walking together in the corridors and they'd tease one another, joke about something they'd experienced. Many times his hand would be on her shoulder or Captain Janeway would rest her palm against his chest when they were deep in conversation. If crew or officers witnessed it, they'd spread it quickly through the ship and it was as if the whole of _Voyager_ breathed a sigh of pleasure. It was so normal to us seeing them together like that. I thought they must…"

Marla paused, gazing unseeingly at a photo on my desk.

"What, Lieutenant? They must…?"

"Love one another. It looked to me so clear in their eyes! They were so close! When they walked, they were really close together. Perhaps they never were aware of how there was no distance between them and they were comfortable with that, him being in her space and all. Everyone spoke about that intimacy. Everyone, Captain."

"What changed, Lieutenant?"

Lieutenant Gilmore-Rollins, lately married to Magnus Rollins whose son James called her "Mom" as I've learned from Rourke who was in his class at the Academy, became serious as she stared again at the photograph on my desk. Her face lost some of the animation of earlier, became thoughtful.

"I think it was so sudden, you know?" Marla began. "Perhaps two months before we returned home. They were seen entering the holodeck, were there no longer than an hour and a half. One young ensign who'd rounded a corner of the corridor saw them exit and told everyone how the captain and Commander Chakotay didn't walk close together like they usually did.

"Then suddenly, the next day a hostile breeze blew through the ship, so palpable was the change in their relationship. One could feel the changed ambience. Whatever happened, Captain, none of us knows. I can conjecture all I want, but the real story - there has to be one! - won't come out. That you will have to ask Captain Janeway and Commander Chakotay. I can tell you, it was as if they were enemies, but you would never say that. They played a game, Captain. It seemed to me they were always playing a game. I am very hurt that there is such hate between them now…"

"Thank you, Marla, for your candid thoughts."

"It was a pleasure, Captain Bellamy. Admiral Paris assured us it would be confidential. Please, please, be the miracle they need!"

I couldn't help but smile. Ethan Bellamy, the miracle worker…

"Lieutenant, before you leave, I noticed you staring at the photo on my desk."

A delicate blush flushed her cheeks. Marla smiled shyly.

"You were very young, there, Captain. Your hair - "

"No, Lieutenant, that is not me in the picture. It is my son, Rourke."

"Rourke? Is he at the Academy?"

"Indeed. Why do you ask?"

"My stepson James is in his first year. They must know one another, though the academic year is still young… You play the cello as well as I understand, Captain. Where did you train, if-if I may ask?"

"Under Professor Von Bulow at Juilliard."

"Oh! Professor Von Bulow! Your cello is a Kahlmayer!" she exclaimed.

"You know about music? And these instruments?"

"I play the violin. My instrument is also a Kahlmayer, Captain."

"That is wonderful, Lieutenant. We must arrange some sessions in the holodeck - "

"Yes, thank you, sir!"

Someone other than Rourke who understood my musical drive. I was going to enjoy Marla Gilmore-Rollins' presence on the _Oregon…_

Yet, the spectre of a captain and her first officer remained in my thoughts. I became restless as my mission became more and more urgent.

************

END CHAPTER 3


	4. WHAT MAHONEY HEARD

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> Ethan has an interesting conversation with one Ensign Mahoney...

* * *

I always hated spring, especially its early days. Spring brought memories too painful to entertain. Despite Starfleet's best doctors assuring me that my transformation from human to Borg to human was permanent, that there were no side effects, except a cortical array still stuck in my brain that enhanced my sensory acuity. I worry this time of year. Every year for ten years.

Then I hurry to Beaver's Lodge, my cocoon in Curry County, Oregon, the most beautiful location on the planet. I sink myself into writing the first drafts of a new work or play the cello until my fingers bleed. On the _Oregon_ I trained with Marla Gilmore, a gifted violinist who once told me she had to save up rations to replicate a violin on Voyager. The grandparents of one Noah Lessing kept her Kahlmayer safe before the _USS Equinox_ left for the Badlands.

Now, after two and a half months in deep space, unwinding in Beaver's Lodge gave me a measure of peace. Rourke was spending time with his new friend James and his parents. He was only eight when his mother and younger brother died on the _Bellerophon_. Wanda was my lifesaver who took my traumatised son and began his healing when Starfleet was healing me. I owe Wanda everything.

Now sitting on the deck, no more so fearful I'd turn into a drone again, I explored the gentle strains of a Boccherini adagio, my thoughts meandering to the latest interviews of former _Voyager_ crew and officers. Some were suggested by Admiral Paris through his son Tom.

The world was turning green around me - blue grass, ash trees, tall Douglas firs rising imperiously to touch the sky - wondrously lush in the perfumed air. A lark descended on a tree branch near me, its singing accompanying my playing. I heard the splash of a beaver in the nearby stream, the only sounds of a spring afternoon, the sun's rays splayed across the deck, kissing the strings as my fingers caressed Boccherini.

So my thoughts drifted to Ensign Lancelot Mahoney…

I cornered Mahoney on Voyager at McKinley Station where the vessel was being prepared for new missions, to be captained, I believe, by Chakotay. Found Lancelot in the mess hall after Commander Tuvok apprised me of the ensign's location. Apparently, according to Chell, he had an interesting story to tell.

A very interesting story that somehow involved a 20th century novel by a French author.

****

"My name is - "

"Lancelot Arthur King Mahoney," I finished for him. "Why?" I asked, unable to hide a smile. Parents venting their own idiosyncrasies when naming their kids. I was keen to hear what Ensign Mahoney had to say.

Ensign Mahoney's expression changed to mild disgust.

"The parents were historians of medieval English history. I call me Lance. I like that better."

"Fine, Ensign Mahoney. I'll remember."

"Yes, thank you, Captain Bellamy. I was told you wanted to interview me for a Voyager story you're going to write."

"Yes. Don't tell anyone, okay?" I said, humoring him.

"My dad read your books. Said they were inspirational."

"Thank you, Lance. Now, about Voyager…Tell me about the command team. Your impressions."

Lancelot bit his lower lip, his face pure concentration as he laced his bony fingers. He had a shock of reddish brown hair and a smattering of freckles dusting his cheeks. For once here was a person who didn't look at me as though I were a curiosity with my white hair and green eyes.

"I worked the night shift that night, being truly lower decks as my work is based on deck 14, and sometimes I scrub the floors there. I don't come up for air often, Captain Bellamy, but Captain Janeway and Commander Chakotay were good at including everyone on board for social events. They knew us all by name, see? I take my supper in the mess hall - we are sitting now at the very table where my friends and I sat that night. It was long after Alpha Shift when other crew had come on duty, after ten in the evening. It was just me and Dekkan after the others had left. The captain and commander sat in that corner over there."

Lancelot unlaced his fingers, long phalanges wrapped by skin, he was so thin, one bony finger pointing like an angel of death to the corner of the mess hall. I half expected a scythe to appear like magic in the other hand! I turned my gaze in that direction. It was quite dark, muted light throwing everything in silhouette. I pictured Chakotay sitting against the bulkhead and Janeway in the opposite seat.

"What were they like to you?"

"I didn't know them that well, to be honest, Captain Bellamy. I kind of melted into the bulkheads and remained unseen mostly, except when I was seen by either Captain Janeway or Commander Chakotay, then they greeted me very civilly, you know? But I liked how they were as command team. You didn't often see Commander Chakotay go off in a flying rage against the captain, and then he was justified, as many of my fellow lower decks friends always said. He stood his man, but also stood up for her and was very, very protective. They were an ideal match…

"I never liked that my parents were so often involved in annual cosplays and live action replica battles of 5th and 6th century England. Once my dad was Henry V and my mother was Catherine of Val-Vally - "

"Valois. She was French."

"Yes, that. I hated history, if you don't mind my saying so. But one thing I can tell you: my mom and dad loved one another. Really loved. Do you know how many of my friends' parents are separated? As if divorce is the new form of marriage, you know? My mom and dad, they loved, and that's what most of us saw in Captain Janeway and Commander Chakotay."

"That they loved?"

"We knew it was there, though for the world they would have denied it at every corner. I just don't know how things changed. Broke my heart, Captain. Broke my heart to see them so distanced."

"You referred to them sitting in that corner over there, not far from where we're sitting right now. Could you hear what they were saying?"

Lance nodded, grinning. "Almost every word, Captain, even though they spoke in low tones. It's like the air carried their whispers right to my table and who am I not to listen? I couldn't _help_ but listen! I didn't want to remain in the mess hall, but it was my dinner time and I was only half way through Broggan Peas and Glazed Carrots Julienne and as unpalatable as they were, I was too hungry to care. So I stayed, even though I swear to God, they were up to something…."

"Well, Ensign, the floor is yours, as they say."

_Broggan peas?_

"I will tell you the best I can of everything I heard and saw, through their eyes…"

***** ************************************************************

**On Voyager in year seven… the mess hall**

"Why is it so dark in this corner of the mess hall? I can't see my food," Chakotay complained. "It's Broggan peas and carrots and garlic parmesan egg plant masquerading as fake steak with a revolting looking sauce." 

"Just imagine we're sitting in the restaurant of the _One and Only,_ home of fine dining, and not the mess hall, home of _Leeola Root Surprise_ ," Janeway told him.

Chakotay mumbled, slicing through the egg plant with his d'g tagh.

"Amusing what crew carry hidden under their clothing," Janeway said. "There's a perfectly serviceable dinner knife on the table." 

Chakotay took a first bite, then grasping his glass he downed his wine in a single gulp. Broggan peas and carrots disappeared down his throat.

"Don't worry about the lighting," Janeway murmured. "I'll let Neelix know. It's only this corner of the mess hall, apparently."

"Apparently."

Janeway glanced about them, realising they were practically isolated, with a few late stragglers downing their Broggan peas. She noticed Lancelot Mahoney and Dekkan Sprog some distance away. She turned to Chakotay, reached over the table and caressed his cheek, not caring that they were being observed.

"Very soon the whole ship will know you touched my cheek," Chakotay muttered as he struggled through his food.

"You know, Commander," she said, ignoring his comment, "I read a novel years ago, by a 20th century French author."

The ship rocked, a pea popped off Chakotay's fork, rolling like a shiny marble across the floor.

"Perfect little globules of rock, Commander."

Their laughter broke the tension somewhat.

"Baytart pulling us to port," Chakotay mused.

"Yeah."

"The novel?" Chakotay probed.

"Oh, yes. So this story is about a woman and a man in suspended animation, you know, like cryostasis - "

"I know what it means, Captain."

"Which scientists discovered deep under the ice in the Antarctic."

"Do I know where this is going, Captain?"

"Soon enough. Pay attention. Eat your food."

"So, what about the ice people?" he asked after swallowing more egg plant, Broggan peas and Julienne carrots.

"Well, their civilization was far more advanced than the scientists of the novel's real world. After much international debate they decided to thaw out the woman first. Anyway, there was this nifty little gadget they had. A very smart little visor, or was it a head band? No matter. It was something metallic."

"I like your hair, Janeway," Chakotay said.

"What does my hair have to do with the headband of the Ice People?"

"Nothing, I guess," he said, sipping the wine slowly. "This is good wine, Janeway."

"Only the best red wine for you, my friend."

Janeway glanced around, noticed some stragglers still hanging around. Lancelot and Dekkan Sprog seemed to have a keen interest in them.

Then she toed off her boots and wriggled away the socks. Chakotay glanced up, disturbed by the activity under the table. Janeway wiggled her toes like she was getting ready for a fight.

"So what did they do with the head bands?" Chakotay asked, suddenly alert.

"Once they slipped the head band on and pressed a panel at its side, a white screen was activated," Janeway said, delicately balancing Broggan peas on her fork.

Conflicting emotions flickered across his features, the frowns deepening. As if in a trance he gazed as Kathryn lifted the fork to her mouth, red lips pouting gracefully about the tines in a very sexually suggestive manner.

While Chakotay couldn't take his eyes off Kathryn's mouth, she lifted up one foot slowly and hitched it between Chakotay's thighs, just a hint of a toehold on the seat edge, close enough to his crotch. All while she closed red pouty lips around pea-bullets and sipped Cabernet Sauvignon Red.

Her eyes never left Chakotay who became uncomfortable, shifting his bottom away from Janeway's searching bare foot that crept further up the seat, brushing his thigh, strong muscle that instantly tensed at her touch as he tried to pinch his thighs together. He appeared seriously conflicted - Janeway's toe grazing his bulge or her red, sexy lips engaging in erotica with a pea.

"And then-then, what-what happened?" he stammered.

"It's an emotion band, see? On the screen, for all who witness, your emotions play out as colours which, depending on the intensity of the emotion - anger, sadness, laughter, joy, humour and any prurient thoughts, _especially_ prurient thoughts deepen the shades as they swirl around on the screen."

"W-what?"

"So if you thought about sex, like really having sex with another, the swirling colours are red and orange and all the shades between those two, including a bit of yellow. If it's really erotic, they swirl in a riot of reds and orange and all very, very bright, see?"

Janeway's foot squeezed his balls, a lot like a hand clutching a hand grenade before she pulled the pin. Chakotay sputtered and choked, Broggan pea-bullets shooting inelegantly from his mouth in a wide trajectory across two or three tables.

"Commander, are you okay?" they heard a crewman ask.

"Ah, Ensign Mahoney," Janeway oozed. "Next thing everyone will think you died by my hand, Commander."

Another sputter and a dark flush spread across his face and neck.

"I'm fine, Mahoney," Chakotay croaked.

Janeway squeezed harder, Chakotay squirmed against the bulkhead. He had nowhere to go.

"Don't you dare move, Commander."

"What-what the h-hell do you think you're doing?"

"Eat, Chakotay. Spread your thighs," Janeway whispered. "Come on, be a honey and do it…" 

It seemed Chakotay complied as his body slithered down against the bulkhead. He was gone! Janeway's free foot joined the other in making love to Chakotay's bulge.

"Stress balls for your feet. Now there's a novel way to relax…"

"You are certifiably insane, Janeway," Chakotay hissed.

"That was a shitty thing to happen this afternoon on the bridge, Commander," Janeway said, her voice dripping with anger.

"What happened?"

"Are you dumb or something? The entire bridge witnessed my first officer rubbing his crotch while looking at the viewscreen. You should have seen your face. Looked like you were in the throes of an orgasm, shooting cum all over me."

Then Janeway rubbed Chakotay's crotch like he had an elephant itch.

"Paris wanted to know if you were masturbating. Tuvok made a note about mating behaviour. Harry was nonplussed and asked whether the nebula was churning coffee. Seven of Nine wondered whether you were dancing in the command chair, she's that naive."

"I apologise, Captain - "

"You embarrassed me, Commander, jerking off on the bridge like there was no tomorrow."

"It won't - "

"One move, Chakotay and I'll invite Mahoney over to see my below-the-table fancy footie. Now eat, while I'm busy."

The idea to get up and leave the mess hall occurred only briefly to Chakotay, unable to resist the movement between his legs. Completely in her power,, he let her direct the action. Janeway just kept rubbing Chakotay's balls.

"Your face was gone, see?" she continued. "You were dwelling in ecstasy. All kinds of red and orange on the viewscreen. I'll tell you what you fantasised about. You were thinking about how you can have sex with your captain, right?"

"I said it won't happen again - "

"All brave now, aren't you? I bet you ripped my uniform off my body. I bet you dug your nails in my oh, so soft skin. I bet you scored long scratches down my thighs as you pulled my pants down. I bet my lips were bleeding the way you bit and clawed at me - "

"Captain, goddammit…"

"Did you? Did you, huh?"

Janeway leaned across the table, then glanced back in time to see Mahoney get up to leave. It was the moment she was waiting for. He'd probably had enough of the floor show. She turned to Chakotay and hissed.

"One hand under the table, please, Commander. Pick up your fork and eat. That's and order."

"Fuck you, Janeway."

"Mahoney!"

There was a scurry near the turbolift as Mahoney screeched to a halt, with a pause before the ensign debated on whether to stay or leave. Janeway didn't care this time whether Mahoney stayed or left in a hurry after he got life back in his feet.

"Unzip your pants for me."

"Damn you, Captain…"

"Your cock seeks freedom and it wants me, Commander. Open your mouth please.. There, that will do. Now I can feed you too while I give you pleasure."

"Kathryn, dammit! I'm going to - "

He rocked with the movement, a growl emitting from him, eyes beginning to bulge. Janeway worked him rhythmically, faster and faster. Then she pressed the fork between his teeth the instant Chakotay ejaculated.

"You fucking bitch!" he hissed the moment his breathing evened and the fork slipped from his mouth.

****

"Lance… Lance!"

"Huh?"

"You were gone there for a while."

Lancelot Mahoney pulled himmself to the present. He'd told me a whacking story of his commanding officers engaging in sex in the mess hall of all places, thinking that no one was watching or they simply didn't care. The glazed look in his eyes were gone, replaced by clear, sober regard.

"They didn't care, Captain Bellamy. They didn't care who was watching. I couldn't believe she would go that far… I think Captain Janeway took delight in humiliating Commander Chakotay. They were playing games, we all thought, and those games were fun, in the beginning. But that night, I felt sorry for Commander Chakotay. It was getting out of hand, the thing that they wanted to outdo one another… I could see the humiliation behind the ecstasy…"

Lancelot Mahoney's expression changed, from the faraway look when he told me his story, to something very close to tears. I felt a sudden rush of anger. Most times, in the best of stories, readers often knew precisely what was wrong with a couple. The reader would have all the answers! _Just say sorry, man. Why doesn't he just kiss and make up? It's so easy to forgive! Easier to ask forgiveness! Just admit your feelings and be done with it! Tell him the truth, man! Listen to her and don't send her away!_

And I know how difficult it was to do all those things. We expected our deities to offer forgiveness which we couldn't extend to our friends, neighbours, loved ones if we betrayed others in some way. No, the things we saw so clearly in romantic tales and accused from outside the texts which characters themselves were too blind to see, didn't quite happen the way we expected them to. While most of literature's great tragedies involved not two but three individuals, I began painting a picture of Janeway and Chakotay and a third character called Bitterness. No, Janeway and Chakotay did not behave according to script.

Sighing, I gripped Lancelot's shoulder in a reassuring squeeze.

"It will all work out. You'll see. Thank you for your input. I appreciate it."

"Your first book, Captain Bellamy…I read _Songs of a Wayfarer_ … Don't tell my mother!"

I left Voyager with the broadest smile!

**************

END CHAPTER 4

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> The reference of the novel in this chapter is "La nuit des temps" written by French author RENE BARJEVAL.


	5. THE ANGER WITHIN

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> Ethan visits Janeway at her office.

* * *

Rourke takes after me. That much was evident when he was still a toddler, barely able to prop himself against my cello with Mélisande looking on indulgently as he plucked the strings, brows knitted in fierce concentration, lips pressed tightly together. We both sensed then that Rourke would probably play a string instrument when he was older. Then came Piers, brimming with energy, as wild as any little boy, three years old, who had broken his leg falling from a swing. Brothers yet different in temperament and appearance.

Rourke was more contained, his head brewing with facts and figures, wanting to "be like Daddy" he always said. Piers was just a ball of energy who demanded to do simulation piloting in the holodeck. He resembled his mother while Rourke inherited my green eyes.

Pierce and Mélisande died during the battle of Wolf 359. I have made my peace with their passing, though the demon called post-trauma haunted me in the middle of most nights. Peace such as I have carved for myself, was hard won, if won at all, for embracing that benevolence was always tainted by the regret I live with every day. I should have died with Piers and Mel…

Sitting in at a recital at the Juilliard Conservatoire, creative heimat ? of Harry Kim, Susan Nicoletti, Marla Gilmore, myself and now Rourke, Academy cadet and cellist like his father, my pride knew no bounds. He indeed showed a very early proficiency for the cello. Accompanied by a young Bajoran pianist, Rourke was excellent, playing a sonatina by Zoltán Kodály.

"Are you coming to the recital, Dad?" Rourke had asked a few days ago. He'd looked so childishly eager even for an eighteen year old cadet.

I would be on my next mission in a week's time. I had missed his first and second recital. This time I pledged I would be present. Hard to make promises, sometimes knowing they can't be kept.

"Don't worry. I'll be there. What are you playing?"

"Kodály…"

And that was where we differed. I favoured Boccherini, Faure, Bach… Rourke liked Kodály and Haydn. Some weekends we'd play together at Beaver's Lodge, two cellos creating sounds that filled the Oregon air. They were good days. My grandfather would have been proud of Rourke…

So I arrived late after all and slithered into the back row. The slanted seating gave me a good view of the small, intimate audience, though for once my eyes were on the performers on the small stage.

When you listen to beautiful music, you cannot help when your thoughts stray. You can't help how the meandering thoughts join like a link in a chain, jumping gently from music to something completely unrelated. Maybe because I'd heard Rourke play Kodály so many times before, I was slightly disengaged though the music provided an unlikely counterpoint to Lancelot Mahoney and his account of what Janeway and Chakotay got up to in the mess hall.

And what a story that was! Even Lancelot's name which he disliked was part of the package of this quite unique and humorous crewman. He had given an account of his parents' love of all things medieval, yet he unequivocally declared that they loved one another passionately. He compared his parents' devotion to what he'd witnessed between Janeway and Chakotay.

Then I felt something, a presence I had not noticed before, a remnant from my days as a Borg. Admiral Paris and the team of doctors who worked on me told me that I'd retain some sensory impulses. As long as I didn't turn back into a drone, I was okay with that.

I was not the only Starfleet officer present at the recital. Why did I notice it only so late? Did my instincts fail me for once? I should have seen her when I entered the small auditorium. A woman in admiral's dress sat in the second row from the front. Even in profile I recognised Kathryn Janeway. Golden bronze hair curved into a soft bob, not the severe bun from her official Starfleet picture. My heart skipped several beats. I was staring at a woman whose character was brought to life by members of her crew. I had not yet met her but I felt I knew much about her. But "much" was certainly not enough.

Janeway appeared a little aloof and, I realised, lonely. I've felt like that so many times at Beaver's Lodge, how loneliness drive me to have entire conversations with a tree, a beaver, a lark. Sometimes I talked to Mélisande and Piers, their faces staring motionless from a portrait… It was like reading a book and you happened upon a particularly charged passage. You had this screaming need to discuss it with someone only to realise there was no one there...

That was what I saw in Kathryn Janeway listening to a Rourke Bellamy recital - a lonely woman with no one to share her deepest feelings. I was quite certain that she desperately wanted to speak to someone who could understand her most intimate emotions, her faults, her flaws, her pride, her joy, the reason she wasn't talking to the man who could mean the end of her suffering.

And so for once I couldn't wait for the recital to end. Old Prof Von Bulow looked asleep but was far from it. Rourke only attended the conservatoire these days for master classes. But I had to speak to Admiral Janeway before Rourke left again for the Academy.

"That was classic Kodály, Rourke," I said after the recital ended.

"Thanks, Dad."

Rourke graced me with a broad smile. For a few moments I experienced a flash of how his mother used to smile. I felt a sudden rush of pain, grief multiplied a thousand times... Rourke growing up without a mother, his father in months of pain transforming from Borg to human. Months I couldn't connect to my son who'd wept because one parent was gone forever and the other who didn't want Rourke to see him with Borg exoskeleton and implants. I was a horror. I missed Piers and I missed Mélisande and I missed Rourke.

"Hey…"

Rourke's voice broke through my reverie. I hardly noticed his hand on my arm, a steadying and comforting touch.

"I'm okay, Rourke. Thanks, son."

I felt lighter. It didn't hurt so much anymore. As an eight year old returning with his aunt from their holiday, Rourke had been traumatised. I had gone into a screaming rage that my son not see me as a Borg drone. Peace and reconciliation had been hard won…

"Listen," I said, "I saw Admiral Janeway in the auditorium. I want to catch her before she disappears completely. Do you mind?"

"Not at all, Dad. I invited her here - "

"You…what!?"

Rourke burst out laughing.

"She lectured a class in quantum mechanics. Then she mentioned something about an aspect of the course being akin to the vibration of strings. She asked if anyone played an instrument. Trust James Rollins to help her out there. One thing led to another…"

"Son, you have just given me an opening. So thank you very much. I'll see you at the weekend…" 

******* 

"Admiral Janeway?" I asked, practically running after her as she made her way to the transport station. She stopped and turned to look at me. Then a frown marred her attractive features. She was certainly more beautiful in person and a lot more animated.

"Captain Bellamy? The writer? Rourke's dad?"

"Indeed. I missed his previous recitals and promised I wouldn't miss this time…" Kathryn Janeway looked pained for a second before recovering. Was there something that evoked a bad memory? I wondered. I stored that image. I was going to reflect on it later.

"He's very, very good, Captain - "

"Please, call me Ethan. And yes, he trained under Professor Von Bulow from his sixth year," I offered.

"I understand you play as well, Ethan," she said. "Must run in the family - "

"Only from my side, from my grandfather. Er, Admiral - "

"Call me Kathryn," she said. "You wanted to speak with me? Other than something concerning Rourke?"

Her earlier uneasiness evaporated and left Janeway with a beautiful, composed face, though she remained aloof. There was something deep, mysterious hidden behind the composure. For a fleeting moment I wondered how I was going to crack her reserve.

"Yes. I wonder if I can impose on your time for an interview. I'm leaving for the Yaris Nebula in a week's time. Could we talk? Tomorrow, perhaps?" I asked, hopeful that she'd agree.

Janeway pursed her lips and my heart sank. I thought of the crew and senior officers who were all eager to talk about Voyager's exploits in general and the Janeway and Chakotay problem in particular. "Another time, maybe?" I asked, trying to mask my disappointment.

"Depends on what you want to know, Ethan. I've read your novels, by the way. But you have studied the ship's logs, I take it. What more than that do you wish to know?"

_All of your private logs?_

That question stalled and remained in my head.

"First hand knowledge. Your view of events, Kathryn. I'm writing a book on Voyager and her exploits in the Delta Quadrant. Your personal experiences and vision for bringing your crew home would enhance the themes I wish to explore…"

"That would be all?" she asked, appearing sceptical.

_No, Kathryn. I want to get into your head and determine why a woman with so much to give could give up a man who deserved her…_

"Yes."

"Tomorrow, my office. 1400."

**

It was a mistake. Grappling with Janeway was like fighting an indomitable mongoose. She was on the attack the minute I entered her office. The sad demeanour of days before gone, as if I'd never seen it. She looked indescribably beautiful, sitting so aloof-like in her brand new leather chair which was probably a gift from her mother.

"Captain Bellamy," Janeway started, her hands folded serenely in front of her on the desk, "I don't have time for long drawn out repetition of what you could so easily read in the ship's logs… or the tabloids…"

"You invited me here," I shot back. I made myself comfortable in the chair opposite her, ready to continue sparring.

"Fair enough. Now what do you want to know?"

"Your command structure on Voyager. I know your original mission was to apprehend a Maquis renegade, but soon after being shunted into the Delta Quadrant, things changed. How did they change?"

"We became a Voyager crew that fought adversity together."

Her response was a little mechanical, too pat, as if she'd told this account to every media representative who knocked on her door.

"Commander Chakotay became not only your first officer, but also a valued friend, a confidant," I ventured. "Very close, perhaps more than close…"

There was a little pause. Did I puncture something?

"Yes," Kathryn admitted, albeit a little reluctantly, "the nature of our journey demanded that. We were going to be in uncharted, mostly hostile space for seventy five years. Friendships… were forged in the Delta Quadrant crucible, Ethan. It was natural and it was necessary."

Such a hard emphasis on the _necessary_ that made me wonder if Kathryn Janeway realised how much she revealed of herself. She might as well have said "relationships" instead of friendships. Seven years was a long time to be stranded in an alien quadrant, long enough that relationships were formed, marriages contracted that, God forbid, had they remained in the Delta Quadrant another twenty three years, Voyager would have become a generational ship. How did Kathryn Janeway avoid the snare of love, of engaging in a shipboard romance, of forming an attachment with a subordinate?

The answer was simple. I had commanded a constitution class vessel where there was a code of ethics written like the blueprint it was. Fraternization between a captain and a subordinate was not deemed acceptable as such relationships were regarded as harmful to discipline and functioning of their individual roles. Hell, even married couples served on different vessels.

I was in the Alpha Quadrant, sent on missions no longer than two or three months. But seven years? How could anyone withstand physical attraction, of real tear-jerking love if there was an object of affection? No matter how deeply the body craved for a romantic outlet, what could you do if your body hungered for sexual release and the object of your hunger sat right next to you?

And so my next question slipped out, like an involuntary pizzicato on a cello string.

"Was he your lover, Admiral Janeway?"

_I should never have asked that question._

The mongoose froze momentarily, eyes shooting sparks, primed to strike at the meddlesome snake. Janeway rose slowly from her chair and stood unsteadily, her hands quivering in her rage. She leaned forward. How I found myself standing too I couldn't fathom. The sadness mixed with anger was back in her blazing eyes and face. I guess all the reporters who interviewed her fired non-threatening questions, ones in which she remained in control and could easily dispense with them… I hit at the core and Janeway reacted like the mongoose she was. I had no time to feel any kind of victory for I couldn't rejoice in her disconcertment; her distress was painful to witness. My question slipped out. I should have held my tongue.

"That's it, Captain Bellamy," she spat. "We are done here - "

For a split moment I was the snake reacting to the fighting mongoose. I couldn't help myself! It was brief and instinctive the way I felt an instantaneous need to project the same anger. If she fought, I fought. I felt an inevitability about my own reaction to Janeway. It was unlike anything I had ever experienced - fighting dirty.

"Why do you hate him so, Janeway? What games were you playing that resulted in the destruction of what everyone saw was a perfect friendship and a perfect love?"

_Stop, Bellamy!_

Then Janeway hit her commbadge with trembling fingers. "Janeway to Security…"

_Yet I kept on._

"Two months before your return you changed dramatically, like the flip of a coin. What happened that night after playing Velocity, Admiral, that caused such a rift between you and Commander Chakotay?"

I had to get in my maximum thrust at Janeway's reserve before Security threw me out. "What made you play those games, huh? Why was it 'game over' by morning? By morning, Admiral!"

It didn't give me an inch of pleasure watching Janeway crumble in front of me. I knew I’d touched a few raw nerves. Just before her aide entered followed by two Security officers, Janeway seemed to clutch at her bosom in distress. And in the moments after I nodded to Security that I would comply, I noticed how Janeway's hands gripped at more than just her bosom, like covering her belly.

"Get out, Bellamy. Get out…"

I nodded to the security officers and left hastily. I’d pushed her too hard, I thought as I stood outside the offices of Starfleet. Janeway looked shattered, as if the mongoose had been caught by surprise and the snake aimed where its venom would inflict the most damage. It was so counter to my nature that Janeway could draw such a reaction from me. Even in those moments I stood outside, I vowed to offer my profoundest apologies for hurting her.

Still…

Once again, a reader of such a novel would have demanded why the heroine didn't just say 'yes' when asked whether the hero was her lover. They're so simple - all these answers we have, ready to throw at the characters or the writer…

But it's not that simple at all. A character will instantly respond with "It's complicated."

It entered my mind that it was entirely possible that Kathryn Janeway herself could have been the cause of such a breach of trust and love between captain and first officer. And no, not for the reasons we imagine - captain's duty, burden of command, the indefatigable effort to ensure the safety of her crew and bring them all home in one piece. That was not Janeway's reason.

It was something else…

***

END CHAPTER 5


	6. WHAT HAPPENED IN INDIANA

* * *

Two days later, something happened. I'd returned to Beaver's Lodge, completely chastened by the manner in which I had to leave Kathryn Janeway's office and my behaviour towards her. Even before I could apologise, security had arrived. I had to leave, the image of a woman clearly distressed and breathing fire at the same time remaining etched in my memory. I was left to wonder how I could approach her again without her wanting to burn me alive.

For once my surroundings, always so blessedly grounding with the sights and sounds of larks and beavers, failed to instil a restfulness in me. Writing and music remained my antidote to the guilt I felt in causing Kathryn's unhappiness. So I immersed myself in outlines and plot points for my _Voyager_ story. When my brain protested after hours of hard work, I sat on the deck and lost myself in a Faure sonata. Gradually peace returned; I closed my eyes at the sheer beauty of the music.

My mind strayed to Kathryn Janeway and our classic confrontation. In retrospect I conceded I was too hard on her, no matter that I reacted uncharacteristically to match her rage. Her crew had painted an unflappable, emotionally difficult-to-puncture individual. When I looked at anyone trying to divine what made that person tick, there was always a part of the person that remained an enigma. I thrived on those mysteries, not out of an uncommon inquisitiveness but a genuine desire to understand someone. Kathryn Janeway's reaction had unsettled me more than I'd wanted to admit and playing Faure helped ease the anxiety I'd felt since I left her office. It's also hard to admit that I could have approached her differently. Yet the moment I stood before her we were on opposite sides of battle lines, and Janeway had drawn those lines.

I had promised myself a loose deadline while balancing command of the _USS Oregon_. Within a week, I would be traveling to the Yaris Nebula to collect a group of scientists returning to Earth. Luckily Admiral Paris hadn't hounded me…yet! He was patient and so was I. My task was two-fold - write a story about Janeway and Chakotay and do everything in my power to get them together. After talking to so many crew and officers, I wasn't going to hurry myself to the point where I'd have to do major rewrites. Kjel Y Badr left me alone for now and that was good. I hated distractions especially while I hammered out thousands of words during the day. I reported to no one, set my own targets and remain disciplined. Still, Janeway haunted me like no other character I had ever created, barring perhaps my hero in _Songs of a Wayfarer_.

I was so engrossed in playing that I only heard a faint sound like a far off tinkling bell. My vidcom beeped! I shook my head, reluctantly leaving the cello on the deck and walked to my small office where the insistent beeping pierced my ears. What was my surprise when I switched on my device and saw a face so like Kathryn's that I shook my head to dispel my confusion. I couldn't hide my smile either, though why I was hailed was a mystery.

This woman looked older.

"Captain Bellamy, I am Gretchen Janeway, Kathryn's mother," she said, instantly answering my unspoken question.

Smiling, I acknowledged her greeting. "Is there anything I can do for you, Mrs Janeway?"

"Kathryn returned to Indiana yesterday in quite a state. I have never seen her so discomposed. Usually she talks to me, but Captain, I know about the troubling relationship between her and Commander Chakotay. I understand he is captain now. But that is all I know, that something is wrong and she won't talk to me - "

"I must admit that I am to blame. If I could speak with her and reassure her that I didn't mean to cause her any hurt - "

"That is why I called, Captain - "

"Please, it's Ethan…"

"Then call me Gretchen," she said. "Someone needs to knock a few home truths into my daughter's head. She might have been gone seven years, but I know her and when her emotions, especially those she doesn't want you to see are exposed, she clams up. No amount of talking can get her to open up. I'm her mother and it hurts me. She needs to be shaken, Ethan.

"I understand you're writing about _Voyager's_ exploits in the Delta Quadrant and interviewing crew," Gretchen continued. "After you spoke to her - that much I could actually get out of her - Kathryn has secluded herself. Won't speak to me or her stepfather or her sister Phoebe. But I can see whatever you said really broke her, for all the right reasons, I daresay. She needs to talk, Ethan. There's a world of hurt in my daughter. Please come to Indiana…"

"Gretchen, I am leaving in a few days for the Yaris Nebula - "

"Please, tomorrow? I beg you. I think right now you're the only one who could get her to talk."

Indecision raged for about two seconds…

"Fine. I'll be there…"

****** 

**Indiana…**

I traced the path along a lively stream winding through lush verdant landscape, tall tulip trees, white oaks, scattered pines, an occasional willow bending like a very old man over the rippling water. The sun's rays created dappled spots on the ground; they seemed to move with me as I walked. And like Curry County, it was the fragrance in the air that instilled a sense of peace in anyone seeking stillness in nature.

The Janeway property exuded a different kind of beauty, for nothing compared to Beaver's Lodge in my beloved Curry County. I didn't mind at all being so biased about my home. I was drawn to nature everywhere and my heart simply rejoiced in hearing birdsong, fish splashing in streams, the distant call of animals that howled at the moon at night. So I enjoyed my surroundings, breathing in fresh air that sometimes smelled of pine needles.

I was told Kathryn Janeway was somewhere on the property. She'd taken a few days leave after our confrontation in her office. She'd been completely rattled by my question and it was understandable that she'd seek refuge here. I had unlocked something that caused her extreme distress although how much that impacted on her since that moment was unknown to me. The fact that her mother and stepfather - I recognised Admiral Ponsonby, a stately gentleman on Admiral Paris' team with insight into my commission - had asked me to communicate with Kathryn spoke volumes. I was the cause of her distress and the Janeways thought I could succeed where they couldn't. For a moment I thought of Fitzwilliam Darcy who said, "The fault is mine and so must the remedy be…" I was ready to attempt to fix my 'mistake'!

"A female captain of a starship…there's so much more pressure on her," Gretchen Janeway said. "People often think Kathryn is so strong and self-contained that she doesn't need counselling or shouldn't show any weakness."

"A mistake many make," I said in agreement.

We stood on the porch of their sprawling farmhouse with its white swing seat. I pictured Kathryn sitting on the seat, her feet drawn under her, a book in her hand, in her element in such rustic surroundings. All that was needed to complete the picture was Chakotay beside her. Then I left to search for Kathryn Janeway, in hiding on her own property.

Twenty minutes later, after following the bends in the stream I noticed a particularly tall tulip tree standing like a sentry about a hundred meters from the banks of the creek. Two things struck me simultaneously - a structure that looked like a fenced family grave plot and the other, Kathryn Janeway propped up against the trunk of the tree. There was no mistaking her petite form and the colour of her hair even from the distance I was approaching.

I slowed my steps, allowing time to study her, to gather my thoughts, to read the name on the gravestone... Apologising was part of my mission as I reached Kathryn. If she were aware of my almost cautious approach, she gave no sign of it. She reclined against a natural nook in the trunk and never stirred when I seated myself next to her. It was an opportunity to study her.

All around us were silences, the kind I experienced whenever I escaped to Beaver's Lodge. Occasionally a bird squawked as it was disturbed, perhaps by a lizard slithering stealthily in the grass. Maybe even an errant squirrel!

I glanced at Kathryn. In profile she appeared raw, exposed. I felt her pain, unbidden, touching me deeply. We sat like that for interminable seconds. I didn't mind waiting. The way her hands wrung together, not wildly like someone who'd experienced extreme fright, but quietly, as if she chronicled her own agony inside, perhaps even constructing a way to phrase her statement or question.

Her question came out of the blue and it shocked me to the core.

"Did you love your wife, Ethan?" she asked, still gazing at some unknown object in the distance.

_Mélisande._

Love of my life, mother of my sons. Beautiful, fey, petite, unexpected strength, the good wife and mother. The memory of her last words tore at my insides, burning hell's fire through me. I tried to blank out the image with force and where once I languished for days at what had happened on the _Bellerophon_ , this time I focused stringently as I considered Kathryn's question. I could challenge Kathryn with 'What kind of a fool stupid question is that?' but knew better than to give a petty response.

"I loved her with my whole heart and more. She - "

And suddenly I couldn't continue.

"She asked you to make a supreme sacrifice…on the _Bellerophon_ …"

I glanced at Kathryn, the very moment she turned to look at me.

"Yes. I live with guilt, Kathryn."

She gazed at me for endless seconds.

"The other day, in my office… No one has rattled me like that, you know?"

"I apologise. I wanted to that day, but was escorted out."

She tried to smile, but her face creased as some memory caused her distress. I so badly wanted to ask her the question again, but I had to tread softly, carefully. Yet, as I waited, I was bolstered by the fact that she was talking at least.

"We played Velocity that night."

"Tell me."

"It was a game that turned into a bet. I am good, Ethan, very good. But that night Chakotay was better than he had ever been…"

A chill crept down my spine. I had read numerous reports about how good Kathryn Janeway was at playing Velocity, beating even Seven of Nine who had the ultimate hand-eye coordination. A game that turned into a bet. What did they bet on? What did Kathryn want from the game? It struck me, like lightning, a magnificent epiphany. This time I turned so that I could look Kathryn Janeway in the eyes and match the audacity in her stance.

"My God, Kathryn! You _let_ him win. You let him determine the conditions of the bet. Why?

"To sleep with me. Greatest mistake I ever made."

"The lovemaking?"

"No, what came afterwards, Ethan," Kathryn said stonily.

"The bright light of day far too often allows one to see the mistakes made, which glare with unforgiving reality at you, leaving you with regrets."

"Regrets, more than my fair share of them," she responded.

I chose my next words carefully. 

"What did you do to him, Kathryn?"

Then, as if a sudden downpour from the heavens lashed at the earth, Kathryn Janeway hurled herself into my arms and began weeping. It was stormy, an unsparing, unapologetic shedding of tears that poured from her. And between the lashing storm were words I could barely distinguish that punctuated her heavy sobbing. I heard "guilt" and "regret" and "revenge" and maybe I mistook "alone" for "love" or even "lost". Yet, as disconnected as those words appeared, together they told me a story of love and loss and deep pain.

I knew of grief and loss and anger and regret and the power of healing. I have lived with those emotions for ten years. They were years in which I had to stand firm to raise my remaining eight year old child who experienced the trauma of losing a mother and younger brother. So often I questioned my actions that day on the _USS Bellerophon._ Always, at the heart of decision making, I asked myself whether I could have handled a situation differently. I lost Mélisande because in the moments before assimilation she made a decision for both of us.

And now, Kathryn Janeway who did not stop weeping. What could she have done differently in a game that rocketed disastrously out of control? What could ail this woman who sobbed so forlornly against me? I held her close and waited for the storm to abate. As a man I have found weeping hard, yet I was unable to prevent tears welling in my eyes as she clung to me.

I looked around me, saw birds flapping distractedly, a lone squirrel scampering up a tree some metres away. I could hear the gentle rushing of the stream and pictured water bounding over rocks. I gazed again at the grave. Kathryn's father lay there, another of the traumatic events in her life that very likely impacted on her character, the extreme ordeal she suffered at the time.

And then I realised why I could hear the earth sounds around me. Kathryn had stopped crying. Somewhere from a hidden pocket she produced tissues or a snow white handkerchief and began wiping away her tears.

She moved out of my embrace, somewhat mortified at losing control. But I'd be the first to say that what happened was entirely spontaneous. She sniffed a few times before a watery smile broke through her sadness.

"Thank you, for letting me cry like that."

"Feeling better?" I asked.

"Somewhat. I haven't told anyone what I told you. Must be your white hair…"

"I'm not old."

"No. About as old as Chakotay, I guess."

"Chakotay, huh."

Kathryn nodded, her smile tinged with melancholy.

"What happened the morning after, Kathryn?"

It was a hard question, an extremely private one that no sane person who valued his privacy would respond to. But Kathryn's weeping encouraged a brave entry point on my part. I had a feeling she would be more amenable to talk even if it hurt like hell. She was incredibly fearless, a quality that she had clearly honed over a period of seven years in the Delta Quadrant.

"Will it be in your book?" she asked. She looked me straight in the eyes. I wavered a second only.

"I ask that you trust me, Kathryn Janeway…"

"Fine," she said as we got up and ambled toward the grave where we paused to look at the headstone, the name _Edward Adam Janeway_ carved in Roman lettering. Glancing up at me, she nodded imperceptibly. "If I weep again, will you hold my hand?" she asked.

"Sure."

*************

END CHAPTER 6


	7. STRIP VELOCITY

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> Sometimes we humans say and do crazy things.

* * *

"Chakotay has never beaten me at Velocity," Kathryn began as we slowly sauntered back towards the farmhouse, pausing by a giant willow weeping sad tears into the stream. She appeared composed, but I sensed it was only on the surface. There was a war raging inside. Her eyes turned dark as she retrieved memories that pained her. She was legendary at beating crew at Velocity and probably mostly played against Chakotay since their off-duty hours coincided after Alpha shift. 

"You said you let him beat you - "

"I discovered he'd designed a bogus boxing programme in the holodeck…a cover for his velocity training. I wanted to call him out on that, then decided not to."

"I guess you saw it as an opportunity to continue the games you were playing."

Kathryn glanced up sharply.

"Yes. I knew Seven of Nine was helping him. While captaining a starship, I have clearance at all levels. You know that. I wasn't curious; I was planning an attack. It took me a while, but with Tuvok's help, I was able to decrypt his codes… Told him some story of a security breach…"

She paused, letting her words sink in. She looked miserable that she'd literally spied on her first officer to simply gain an advantage over him. But they were playing games and love, in the grandest sense of the word, was never part of the contract.

"You saw Seven of Nine as a threat?"

"How did you know?"

"You just mentioned her. I guess in order to create an insult that would hit and stick, you'd use her even when she _wasn't_ the threat you perceived. She was just a pawn in your game."

Kathryn sighed deeply, then sat down on the ground close to the overhanging branches of the tree. I joined her, observing again the wringing of her hands in a feverish manner. I resisted the impulse to still their trembling.

"We were on the bridge," she said as she recounted a conversation of that day…

_"Word has it you're seeing Seven of Nine," Janeway hissed._

_"You have a problem with that?" he snapped back. "Are you jealous?"_

_"Are you an idiot?" she countered._

_"For what? Bedding the Borg?"_

_"Are you?"_

_"None of your business, Captain. After that humiliating display of working my genitals in the mess hall, I'm all but done with being your freak show."_

_"You settle for the next best thing?"_

_"Don't flatter yourself, Janeway. The Borg wants me, and that's more than I can say for you."_

"I taunted him, yes. Told him he was bedding the scorpion in order to get a reaction out of him. I was fighting dirty. Senior officers could hear our toxic conversations. I didn't care. It was reckless and not befitting a captain of a starship."

I remembered the scorpion analogy from the official logs. Still, I did perceive a little resentment in Kathryn's voice when she mentioned Seven of Nine.

"I saw him exit the holodeck one day all bruised and bloodied and told him I needed my officers alert. … I knew he'd been playing Velocity against holodeck opponents to sharpen his skills. Then I invited him to a game as a means of a truce between us."

I could just picture Kathryn not letting any moment pass to get the better of an opponent.

"And it was game on. How did the bet start?"

Kathryn glanced at me, then pulled her gaze away and stared over the water for long seconds.

"Strip Velocity," she said softly. "Every point one of us lost, we had to remove a garment. Chakotay was very, very good. His training had paid off. It became increasingly difficult to play high stakes and lose like it was meant to be. He…appeared angry all the time. His eyes were blazing and I knew he wanted to pay me back for what I'd done to him in the mess hall. Yes, Ethan, I know you spoke with Lancelot Mahoney - "

"How - ?"

"Tuvok. Just his security nature that kicked in when I demanded from him whether you'd seen anyone on Voyager after you came to my office. Anyway, Chakotay's barely contained rage fanned my own anger and the growing animosity between us. By the time he won, I was naked. He - " Kathryn paused, swallowed heavily. "He demanded everything…"

Then she was quiet so long that I wondered whether she'd decided to stop talking. When she eventually turned to face me, her eyes were swimming with tears that began dripping hotly down her cheeks.

"We had sex, Ethan. He dictated the rules of the game. Regardless of whatever I might have felt as a willing participant, I was not allowed to feel anything else. I was hoping… " Kathryn paused, then continued. "It was sex, lust, no rules, engaging in every sordid fantasy in bed. Even if I tried to, I - I can't tell you that it started with lust and ended with love. That's a useless romantic fantasy. Lust ended with lust. No rules, no love…"

This time I covered her trembling hands, trying to instil a sense of calm. I thought how tragic it was that two adults in their mid-forties had played games without ever imagining how the consequences would be devastating to both, that there were consequences at all. Kathryn had a mission where duty to her crew stood like a sentry in her soul. Any deviation from that point was seen as weakness, as caving to base natures which, if she could only realise, was absolutely normal and very, very _human_. And to suppress what was completely natural, Kathryn had resorted to an all-out retaliatory game which, while it was fun at first, soon lapsed into vengefulness.

"I thought I could change the conditions of what we allowed to happen between us. That it would be _lovemaking_ and the giving of ourselves, to be vulnerable and allow one another to treasure that vulnerability. I thought we could press a reset button somewhere and become again the great friends, mentors, challengers, even dare to reveal our feelings for one another. _The way we were._ I was a fool for wanting that…so late in the game…"

Kathryn paused, not bothering to wipe the tears that flowed.

"I love him, you know?"

I nodded. Finally, an admission that any reader of romance would have seen right at the start. But then, what are the hurdles and complex natures in the elements that govern our emotions? Kathryn Janeway was an immensely complex being and Chakotay the only man who understood that, according to Tom Paris.

"What happened by morning, Kathryn?"

She began sobbing softly again, this time not with the fierce storm of earlier.

"When I woke up, I was so angry at myself for losing control, at him for the way he’d behaved, at us for acting as though love never existed, acting as though we were simply continuing our one-upmanship. What I hoped for in my bed never materialised. There _was_ no resolution, no true giving of self. I wanted to punish Chakotay and punish him hard. So I - "

Kathryn took a deep breath and when she began speaking her words transported me to Voyager, to that early morning in Kathryn's quarters. She spoke haltingly as she recounted what happened… I could see how hard it was for her to tell me, a virtual stranger, everything. Yet once she'd started, I knew she was going to follow through with her story.

*******

**Voyager 2378 Delta Quadrant - Janeway's quarters**

Kathryn woke sluggishly, dragging her eyes open. She felt briefly disoriented, slumping back to think and allow herself to arrive at a sense of recognition, of order, waiting for the vortex to stop turning. Then it hit as her she cast her glance to the side.

Chakotay was gone. At that realization, images of the night struck instantly.

Then the smell of sex hit her. Her legs were entangled in black satin sheets stained with the evidence of their lust and when she gazed at her wrist and arms, she noticed dark bruises on them. Memories rolled relentlessly into her being.

Chakotay, dominant, untamed, forceful as he claimed her body. She touched her sensitised core, at the same time found swallowing difficult, remembered that he'd fucked her like a dog on all fours, brazenly entering wherever it pleasured him, grunting with victory as he drew orgasms from her. Most of the night, he’d made her forget that she ought to be outraged by the way he made her body react. If she thought there'd be softness from the caring person she knew him to be, one who'd do anything for her, be by her side always, love her even, that man was gone from her bed. He meant to pay her back.

All the anger she'd seen in the holodeck intensified - though his rage simmered beneath the surface. They hardly talked and when they did, it was baying for more. She'd given measure for measure, hoping constantly there'd be softness, a real respite, of saying the game was over, of asking for pardon and extending forgiveness. It was a fool's hope, destroyed by his power to conquer her.

She'd humiliated him enough times in the presence of crew and officers and now, in the aftermath, there was the stark reality that Chakotay fucked her for one reason only, no matter that her body responded to his debauched sex.

Control. Be the winner.

The rage that had simmered since she woke up reached full throttle as she rose gingerly from the bed. Her uniform and undergarments lay around on the floor, in shreds the way Chakotay had torn them from her body the moment she opened her doors for him. Sighing, she collected her clothing and sheets, dumped them in the recycler and walked into the bathroom.

By the time she was back in her bedroom, she'd devised her plan of action. She wanted to remain angry and vengeful so she could get back at him. He had all but obliterated her hopes for a tender, _loving_ peace. No way was he going to get away with how he’d scored last night.

At 0600 she comm'ed Chakotay. It took several minutes before he responded, already dressed and clean-shaven. That surprised her. He was only due on the bridge at 0700. A tentative smile hovered around his mouth and a look in his eyes that seemed to indicate he'd forgotten how he crowed victory during the night.

"Kathryn, I want to - "

But she gave him no chance to speak, explain, discuss. Her honour and duty to the ship and crew was at stake. How he’d made her respond with so little effort increased her anger ten-fold. Their night of love was not love, but sex and depravity. As long as she kept up the charade of fighting tit-for-tat regularly, he didn't have to know her real feelings for him. _That was not for sale_ , not for everyday viewing by her first officer. It was why she kept up playing pretence, why she could best him whenever she felt that inclination, why she _humiliated_ him so often. She was too enraged to care.

And the words slipped from her tongue with no barrier of propriety that could halt her fury.

"So I let you fuck me, Chakotay. I gave you an entire night. I guess you enjoyed your debauchery, delighted in your dominance. You won! Did you honestly think you could ever beat me at Velocity? Had to play dumb to let you win. Thought it would be useful to experience how you performed in bed…"

"Kathryn?" Chakotay looked confused before shock began to register.

"What happened I _let_ happen, you fool. Now you've tasted every inch of my body, good for you. Did I spoil you for every female on the ship? Great. I did set some standards there, right? Now you can fuck Seven of Nine and pretend she's me. How would that be? You won your bet, Commander, had me for a satin-sheeted night, but everything else is off the table. Must say, you were an animal last night. Such strength in your penis and thighs. Give that to Seven and a holographic Riley Frazier, even species 8472 Valerie."

She was beyond caring, beyond thinking straight. All decorum vanished in an instant as she drove her advantage home. Chakotay's smile froze on his face at the onslaught of her spectacular diatribe, gradually replaced by extreme shock and bitter hurt. She gave him no opportunity to interject, no chance to explain, no chance for apologies and forgiveness. She wasn't going to expose her most private feelings to him. However long it took to get home, she had to protect that privacy with an iron will. That was the way it was and should always remain. Chakotay looked like he was going to burst into tears. Victory was felt in her bones, in the scintillating tremours that coursed through her body.

She brought him to his knees.

And to her utter dismay, Chakotay reined in those emotions; the only one that remained open for her to see was…

"Thank you, Captain Janeway. I think you have said enough. My duty as your first officer will be fulfilled to the best of my ability. That will not change. Everything else is, as you so eloquently put it, off the table."

*****

**The present…**

The sun was setting, throwing long golden rays on the grassy lawns, the Indiana sky resembling an artist's palette with its yellow-orange hues. Even the willow seemed to have stopped drooping, if that were possible. It was quiet around us and I wondered where the birds and other nosy creatures had retreated to, as if they respected our presence. Kathryn's body rested against mine, my hand covering hers. Earlier she'd asked me to hold her hand if she started crying again. Now, still wracked by occasional shudders from her weeping, I waited for her to reach restfulness, though I doubted she would ever be at peace.

She stirred, then gazed across the water.

"I regretted my words almost immediately, seeing the hurt, extreme pain, how his face changed."

"But it was too late to make amends?" I asked. 

"He never forgave me," she said quietly. "Never engaged in silly conversations, never smiled at me again. Never referred to the terrible things I'd said to him. He just…closed, I guess you’d call it."

"Have you tried to speak with him about it since your return?" I ventured, getting up from the ground and gently pulling Kathryn with me. "You are within one another's orbit at Command and the Academy…"

Kathryn sighed deeply. "We have become adept at keeping up pretences. On Voyager, those last two months… Do you know what it was like to have my first officer smile at me, deliver entire reports as if I hadn’t treated him so callously, greet when we pass one another in the corridor exactly as if nothing was wrong? That for a heart-breaking brief moment I'd think everything was fine with my world? Never playing Velocity again? Sitting side by side in our command chairs, our heads close together engaging in humorous repartee, all gone? What it did to me? Hoping at every turn that all would be forgotten and forgiven, praying it would be like the old days?"

I could tell her how Mélisande's face rose up before me every time I was faced with a difficult decision. I'd see her smile, her gentle caution, taking my hesitation and giving it full assertiveness, exactly as if she were standing right beside me. As if nothing at all was wrong. Yes, I could understand Kathryn's words. Very much so.

And how that must hurt.

"It must hurt like hell," I said as we started moving slowly towards the homestead. "I understand, Kathryn. Chakotay was your balance, the one who always cautioned, who would pull you back into line. That was gone…" 

"Indeed, Ethan. Everything I did felt like half of me was not there to experience the completeness of a decision. I never realised how I missed that until that morning of madness."

We walked in silence for a while, then something struck me. I had a hunch then and I was hoping for some confirmation.

"I noticed in your office when I challenged you, that you were clutching your belly…"

Kathryn stopped in her tracks and looked me square in the eyes. The tears were gone, replaced by the boldness I'd come to know about her. Quite composed, but then I always suspected Kathryn's composure concealed a myriad of warring emotions.

"A month after that night I hauled myself to sick bay, where I miscarried."

It didn't shock me. I'd been waiting for the right moment to question her about it. Her face creased like she was about to cry again. But then she didn’t, her mouth and cheeks tightening as she held back the tears.

"I am sorry to hear that, Kathryn. Really sorry. Especially when you clearly felt you couldn't tell Chakotay, with him shutting you out of his life so completely."

Kathryn managed a smile.

"Indeed. I could not ever hold it up as an ultimatum. Even if I did tell him, he would have done the right thing, but it would have solved nothing between us. That was not how I would have wanted him back in my life."

"You felt sad at losing a baby…"

"Yes."

"Will you speak with Chakotay, Kathryn?"

"My fear at rejection right now is greater than my courage."

She gave me a watery smile. I touched her cheek gently. "Come, you have to look like you never entered a storm."

"Right," she said. "Ethan, thank you. It pressed on me so hard, it was difficult to breathe sometimes, having to fulfil my duties at Command and the Academy without looking like I'd keel over any time."

"You keel over? I once keeled right over my cello…"

"Huh?"

"True story. Fell asleep while playing on the deck."

Kathryn laughed and hooked her arm through mine as we walked, the mood lightened. She agreed that I would speak with Chakotay first before she tried to muster the courage to confront him. I breathed a sigh of relief. When we reached the homestead, Gretchen and Adam Ponsonby were waiting on the porch for her. Minutes later I left, wondering how I was going to approach a very angry renegade and warrior.

It had better happen soon.

***********

END CHAPTER 7


	8. A DISSONANT NOTE

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> A few things happening!

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Readers please note:
> 
> Because "Ethan Bellamy" is speaking from a first person narrative, his perceptions of what goes on in characters' heads are limited. So I've created segments in these chapters "from the novel Ethan Bellamy is writing".   
> These segments will be in italics. They are written in the third person POV.

CHAPTER 8 A DISSONANT NOTE

_ EB - The games people play -- chapter 7 draft 14 _ __

_Pain hit her so sharply in the pit of her stomach ~~gasped for breath~~ that it knocked the breath out of her. Trying to divine its origin and stifling the impulse to cry out caused her first officer to glance to his right. With a ~~careless~~ distracted wave of the hand she pointed to the console between them. 'Nothing's wrong' she seemed to indicate, frowning deeply as the wave of pain receded **{into a chasm of darkness?}.** So he studied the data and didn't look up again._

**_[Reference death of her father and Justin]_ ** _Once before she'd stood on an ice shelf, unable to move, powerless to do anything, swamped by pain so unbearable she thought she'd die. She did want to die then. Before her eyes the icy depths of Tau Ceti Prime opened its arms to receive the 'Terra Nova'. She saw them, her father and fiancé, already accepting the inevitable. She had been incoherent with a grief that had crippled her for months._

_Now a wave of pain that reminded her of that ~~dark~~ (inky black) night, intensified, then subsided to the point she could briefly breathe easier. Before she could relax, she stifled another cry as her entire lower body was engulfed in flames. She rose abruptly and headed for the turbolift, leaving Chakotay in charge._

_Walk as if you’re sauntering down a corridor, she told herself… Show no sign of discomfort though the pain is eating your insides._

_In the turbolift she sank down and gave an agonising cry, wondering what was happening to her. By the time she entered sickbay, mercifully empty save for the EMH, she could barely walk, and felt a strange sticky feeling between her legs._

_"Oh, God no…" she cried out as the Doctor helped her on to the biobed._

_****************_

**On the _USS Oregon_ en route to Earth from the Yaris Nebula**

"Thank you, ladies and gentleman. Well done."

We'd been rehearsing Schubert's _Trout Quintet_ for an upcoming concert series at Starfleet Command. Lieutenant-Commander B'rog arranged for the transport of the grand piano and Jael the K'tarian's double bass once we reached Earth's orbit. After taking command of the _Oregon,_ I'd arranged for one of the larger cabins to be converted to a little conservatoire where instrumentalists could practice and train others. Now we have a small chamber orchestra with Marla Gilmore-Rollins my concertmaster.

"You are welcome, Captain. I'm looking forward to being home again - "

"How are Magnus and James?"

"Magnus is back on Earth and James is doing very well. As you know, he shares a dorm with Rourke. They're great friends - "

"And great enemies when it comes to tests and flight maneuvers. So I'd heard."

"They're designing a runabout with the help of B'Elanna and Tom Paris. It will probably be completed when they're in their senior years, they're so busy pulling allnighters."

"I know. Well, I have to head back to the bridge. Dismissed."

"Thank you, Captain."

*****************

Like Marla Gilmore-Rollins, I was in a hurry to get home, not to my apartment in San Francisco but to Beaver's Lodge. My writing was progressing, those segments that I could complete without having interviewed Chakotay. Being home heightened my creativity - just my surroundings, the quiet air, the total stillness until a curious young deer loped onto the property. Then words flowed like golden whiskey from my decanter. I dreamed of sitting mornings early on the deck allowing nature to infuse me with renewed energy.

I promised Kathryn I'd talk to Chakotay before I made any decisions on proceeding further. She was ready for reconciliation, had been months ago, even before Voyager reached the Alpha Quadrant. Chakotay understandably was hurting; he hurt a great deal in the aftermath of that night. Perhaps in the ensuing months, his feelings of resentment and anger could have evolved, though that is doubtful. Kathryn, as she herself realised almost immediately, had destroyed his manhood. Forgiveness, even for a man of Chakotay's sensibilities, was not going to come riding on the wings of Pegasus.

"Captain, I have an incoming communication for you," Lon, my operations officer said.

"Thank you, Lon. I'll take it in the ready room - "

"Captain - "

"What is it, Lon?" A frisson of disquiet rippled through my body.

"It's from Earth, Starfleet Academy."

An old, old feeling of my heart being crushed filled me, making breathing difficult as I hurried to my ready room, leaving the bridge in the capable hands of Commander Per Lindstrom. Once seated behind my desk, I activated my vidcom. A familiar face filled the screen - heavy set, double chin.

"Admiral Paris?"

"Captain Bellamy, you're two days away from home. I thought I'd inform you myself - "

And my concern tripled at the tone of his voice.

"Your son Rourke and another cadet - James Rollins - have been injured in a shuttle accident. Crashed on Mexico in a shuttle they stole from the Academy's hangars. Captain Chakotay warned them - "

I had just enough time to digest that my son was injured in an accident at the same time taking in that Chakotay was involved in some way and in a shuttle they nabbed from stores? Weren't they working on a runabout that was supposed to be completed years from now? I thought how uncharacteristic it was to Rourke to take a shuttle without permission. Then again, when these two were together, they could cook up some harebrained schemes.

"How - how are they?" I asked, unaccountably stumbling over my words. I had lost enough in my life.

"Take a deep breath, Ethan. They're fine now. Rourke suffered a few broken bones and concussion. James fractured his ribs. Last I saw of them, they were comparing trophies. But Ethan, Captain Chakotay saved them. You'll get the full story from him. I recall he mentioned something about Rourke's sick old fart of a dad."

"Really, now, Admiral. Come on, out with it."

"He's wondering if he could have a chat with you, seeing as you've been trawling all over Federation space talking to _Voyager_ ’s crew. Something's weighing on him."

"Right now, I'm more worried about Rourke and James. His mother is on board. Did his dad - ?"

"No, I told him I’d communicate with the _Oregon_ first. That is all. Paris out."

Ten minutes later, a very worried Marla Gilmore-Rollins stood in front of me, wringing her hands. I had a fleeting impression of Kathryn Janeway doing the same thing with her hands. Was Voyager infectious with its hand gestures? I'd heard of the blustering Neelix doing the same…

"They are fine, Lieutenant. Though I guess your husband will be reading James the riot act, like Rourke can expect one from me."

"Definitely. Thank you, Captain. I will be communicating with Magnus tonight."

**************

_ EB novel - The games people play -- chapter 7 draft 16 _

_Tears were for the weak, she decided. The weak did not possess the fortitude to restrain their dread in the face of calamity. She was not like them. The ability to convey to an unknown listener who the "them" were that she referenced, stalled inside her. "Them" were always faceless non-entities, she decided and it was always useful to blame 'them'._

_She wasn't going to cry. The biobed felt hard and impersonal under her. Her body felt like a vessel emptied of its contents, the excruciating pain scraped away. The emptiness persisted. Closing her eyes could not mask the sorrow she felt. A thousand times she regretted her words that morning, words that killed the joy in Chakotay's eyes, realised moments after he spoke. A thousand times she wanted to plead for forgiveness and wipe away his pain. But the hate that always lurked behind the counterfeit smiles kept her from moving forward._

_It would have been a boy, the EMH said. I am sorry for your loss, the EMH said. There will be more pregnancies, the EMH said. Commander Chakotay should know, the EMH said._

_Tears were for the weak, she reminded herself. Chakotay need not know, she decided. She had not known herself until she dragged her body into sick bay. Their night of depraved sex had delivered an unexpected result. He hated her, avoiding all social contact, and always, always, she'd see the gleam of fury in his eyes when he thought she didn't notice. Every attempt to approach him, to seek pardon for her deeds stalled in her throat before it could be uttered. Hope died every time she caught that unguarded look._

_Tears were for the weak._

_"Doctor, this remains classified, do you understand?" she demanded, her emotions raw from her loss._

_"But - "_

_"You know what I can do, Doctor. Don't make me delete today's files. Level ten clearance or I shall delete everything, is that clear?"_

*****

**Starfleet Academy**

Rourke looked penitent. His eyes turned dark green, evidence of shock still there. I hard to be harsh with him even though I experienced conflicting emotions. I was concerned as hell, always remembering what I'd lost.

"You have both been placed on report, son, and while you won't be repeating year one, you've lost so me of your credits. I don't blame Captain Chakotay for his decision. Be glad he saved your lives. It could have been so much worse! You could have died! You are to remain on campus for two weekends and amongst others, assist Boothby with his rose gardens while you work to recoup those credits or you won't proceed. You do not touch another shuttle until Commander Paris gives the go-ahead on your Poison Dart."

Rourke breathed a huge sigh of relief. I am convinced he'd been thinking about his deeds, how wrong they had behaved, how he'd disappointed not only his parent, but his Academy superiors. Somehow Kathryn Janeway had also got word of the young men's misdeed.

"Let me guess, Ethan. You were not much different at that age."

And Kathryn was right. At that age, I was about to lose both my parents in an accident. I went quite beserk for a time. Now Rourke was looking at me like I was never going to forgive him and the resultant relief spread over his face, as he visibly, relaxed. I'd hardly noticed how my son stood at attention!

"Thank you, Dad. I'm really sorry."

"You gonna be okay, Rourke?" I asked, seeing his expression.

"Sure. I have term papers to research anyway, then work to regian typo my credits."

"Good. What about James?"

"His dad tore the skin off him."

Sighing, I nodded. "Where can I find Captain Chakotay?"

"Office, third floor. Name's on the door."

I gripped Rourke's shoulder and pulled him close, remained in a hug for long seconds. When I’d returned to Earth ten years ago, I'd only seen him months after my Borg exoskeleton had been removed. Closing my eyes, I offered a silent prayer. I pictured the little boy of eight, rudderless with a Borg father and whose mother and little brother had died, who needed me then even as I needed him now, to feel his youthful body, all I have left.

Always, these were dissonant notes that crept into our concertos and that terrorised us momentarily. I felt suddenly breathless just at the thought of another of these incidents through which I could lose my son. He and James have a brilliant future, already so far ahead in their first year, leaders in their respective fields. Where Rourke was musically gifted, James had a flair for quantum mechanics, Kathryn Janeway's field.

Knowing I wouldn't be seeing Rourke for the next two weekends at Beaver's Lodge, I headed for the Academy offices.

******

Chakotay had recently returned from a journey to the Badlands. Voyager was back at McKinley Station with the crew on a month-long break. While most officers welcomed shore leave, as my own officers were always in a hurry to get home to spouses and family, Chakotay had resumed his classes in advanced flight maneuvers for senior cadets as well as being involved in training of the 'nursery' level first years in the still existing Nova Squadron. They would be elite cadets by the time they hit their senior year, when only six or seven from the original twenty cadets would make the cut. It was extremely competitive. From all that I'd read about Chakotay's expertise in the development of flight maneuvers, he was the best in his field, his time in the Maquis without a doubt enhancing those capabilities.

Rourke and his friend James, son of Magnus Rollins, already advanced in their classes, hoped to be among the elite group in their senior year. Which is why it came as such a shock to hear they'd committed an infraction by taking a shuttle that mimicked the specifications of their prototype Poison Dart. Their flight would probably have gone without a hitch were it not that they were executing an unsanctioned flight maneuver. And so they crashed over Mexico where it just so happened that Chakotay was spending time with a mentor called Grey Eagle. According to Admirals Paris and Janeway, the crash occurred quite near where Grey Eagle resided, and Chakotay's quick action had saved their lives. Both boys had been dressed down by their superiors but it was worse when faced by their own parents whom they clearly never wanted to disappoint. To regain their credits, they had to work extremely hard, even if it took the rest of their academic year.

Now, walking down the corridor towards Captain Chakotay's office, I wondered again about his unusual request relayed to me via Admiral Paris. I have never personally met Chakotay but I had formed a profile of the man through the many interviews I'd had with the Voyager crew, most notably Kathryn Janeway.

Sighing I stood outside the office, hoping I could get the meeting over quickly so that I could return to Beaver's Lodge.

After a brief pause, I entered. Chakotay rose to his feet from behind his desk. After looking at pictures of this officer, friend and mentor of Kathryn Janeway, after hearing the many descriptions of his character, after picturing what he'd look like close-up and not from press conferences pictures and briefings aired all over the Federation, nothing prepared me for what the man looked like in real life.

His eyes were dark, set in a face devoid of emotion, a strong jaw that seemed to block any impulse to smile or laugh. A muscle twitched, as if suppressed anger was kept at bay. He was tall, his body strong and rigid, muscles straining against his uniform. His gaze was unwavering and although I knew that he was expecting me, it seemed he _knew_ me, as if he'd received intelligence about me, not through my son who was in his class, but by a different route, such as Mahoney who was still a member of his crew, or the Delaneys, even Seven of Nine. For a split moment, I imagined Chakotay in the Maquis renegade gear. I had seen pictures of other Maquis, wearing body armor, whose knives, d'k tahgs and phaser rifles were very visible and no doubt stolen from the Federation and Cardassians.

I pictured Chakotay in such dress on the Yucatan, in his element against the sun that beat down on his pitch black hair. He was the quintessential warrior. I could understand Kathryn falling for this man who exuded power tempered by what I sensed as an amazing capacity for compassion and empathy, of peace, for beneath the hardness there lurked a sadness in his eyes… 

"Captain Chakotay, I understand you wished to speak with me."

"Indeed, Bellamy."

_Uh-oh…_

"I first do wish to thank you for saving my son's life. He's all I have, if you don't count my cousin Wanda," I said lightly.

"They were out of line, Captain, for which they were duly punished."

"I understand. But that is not why I am here, Chakotay," I ventured. He kept glaring at me, not having moved from his position.

"What did Kathryn Janeway tell you about me?"

Just like that. He knew the nature of my mission and I'd spend unnecessary breath questioning how and why he knew. There was no way I could deny his assertion. He shot the question at me. But I was prepared as I stepped forward, bracing my body against the desk.

"Enough for me to know that I need to hear it from you. The story is incomplete without your version and I'd like to hear your side, Captain."

"If you know what she did, I have no story to share with you, Bellamy."

But I could sense he needed to talk to someone. Perhaps his mentor in Mexico or a vision quest did not provide him the peace he desired. If it had, I would not have the job of writing the story of Kathryn and Chakotay. I could sense that Chakotay, for all his hardness, was still not really at peace. I knew Kathryn's side, I knew the impressions of many of the Voyager crew.

All I needed was to hear Chakotay speak.

Sighing, I clicked my heels. Sometimes, retreating could very well inspire the opposite reaction. It was a calculated gamble which I hoped was going to work.

"Well, Captain, I am off to Beaver's Lodge. If you do wish to speak with me, you know where to find me."

A whisper of a smile broke through the severity of his face as he nodded without speaking further. I knew I was dismissed!

************

END CHAPTER 8


	9. WHAT'S LOVE GOT TO DO WITH IT?

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> A chance for Ethan to speak with Chakotay.

* * *

**Beaver's Lodge, Curry County, OREGON**

I was going to miss Rourke who had to remain at the Academy for the next two weekends. While I relished being alone, I always enjoyed the company of my son. With him gone, I lost myself in writing, writing, writing, played music, read books, edited pieces I'd already written. And of course, I hiked all over Curry County.

Spring inched its way gingerly into summer - more activity in the skies, the far-off sound of lively little waterfalls. These days I heard beavers splashing in the streams and curious animals that crept onto my property. I thrived on nature's sounds and its silences.

Lieutenant-Commander B'rog, a Vulcan, was my pianist on the _USS Oregon._ He was an exceptional musician who recorded a number of piano accompaniments for the cello sonatas I always played. In twenty fourth century digital jargon he created a fine selection of backing tracks for me which I used to practice my cello sonatas. On the deck the music filled the air around me, and Beethoven's sonata simply entered my soul and resided in my body. Bent low over the cello, I forgot time, I forgot place, I even forgot that I had to sleep sometime. My time as a Borg had all but cut that out of my life. I needed very little sleep and drank a healthy glass of whiskey on an empty stomach in the morning, before replicating breakfast.

Beethoven sounded sprightly this morning. Focusing on a composer who was deaf and who had given birth to the world's most remarkable music, transported me to another plane. A man pained by his inability to hear, who created music using vibrations of his instruments. I always thought God bestowed gifts on those who cherished them, regardless of disabilities. And suddenly I felt even a little envious that with the best will in the world, I could not be a music maker. It was Rourke who taught me that being an interpreter of music was sublime, setting men and women apart comma from those who simply plonked honky-tonks to great interpreters like Yo-Yo Ma and Jacqueline du Pré.

My swirling thoughts around Beethoven, pianos, sonatas and music makers and interpreters made me completely unaware of my surroundings. I was hardly aware that I was stroking the strings, bent low over the cello, my eyes closed in the onslaught of transcendent music from the very heavens.

And so I never noticed the footfall on the deck, that stopped right in front of me. Suddenly my bow struck a discordant note for it became dark - someone was blocking my sun. I clicked distractedly before looking up.

"Chakotay…"

I was not surprised to see him. Didn't need to ask what he was doing on my property. I had invited him, in a manner of speaking but he came sooner than I expected. He came sooner than I expected, though. How long he had been standing there, I don't know, since I wasn't aware how long the man blocked the sun and let coolness settle over me. I was bent too low over the cello.

"Beethoven."

"Indeed."

"Just a lucky guess," he said.

I stopped playing and halted the piano accompaniment, carefully putting the bow down and bracketing the cello close to the French window.

"What can I do for you?" I asked, noting that he hadn't moved an inch. This time he was dressed in plain clothes - tan trousers and shirt, boots. He carried a duffel and I wondered for a moment whether he was planning on inviting himself to stay a day or two. I didn't mind. I wanted to hear his story.

"She destroyed me, Bellamy."

No formal introduction to the issue at hand, no sweet talking or minimising what had happened. Straight out, exactly the words I used when I spoke with Kathryn. Chakotay felt the shame too deeply. I gave a sigh, walked into Rourke's bedroom, leaving a nonplussed man standing on the deck. I returned a few minutes later with Rourke's climbing gear.

"Here, strap up and gear up."

"Where are we going?" Chakotay asked.

"Up Coniston Peak - elevation 2000m, at one thousand meters there's a plateau with a lake. That's where we're going. I take it you climb?" I asked, as an afterthought before bringing my cello inside in front of the French windows. I rushed to my room on the upper deck.

When I returned, Chakotay was ready for me. Harnesses, rope, karabiners, backpacks that were always stocked with rations. Once Rourke and I finished our climbs or hikes, we refilled the packs for the next expedition Chakotay looked eager, though I could sense a million questions in his eyes and also the stark desire to share his deepest feelings. I felt somewhat conflicted, as the one to draw such emotions from him if that were going to be possible, and to be a trustworthy recipient of what he wanted to share.

"Let me tell you now, Chakotay," I began as we set out through the back of Beaver's Lodge and headed for the first trail that would go almost directly up Coniston Peak, "Kathryn has a story to tell, too."

"It's hard to think myself out of feeling the way I did that morning, Ethan."

"I understand your feelings, even your reaction to what Kathryn had done. It couldn't have been easy working side by side for the two months before _Voyager_ returned home."

"Then you don't know Kathryn that well. We both played charades. After the stupid games and after her diatribe against me that morning, I adopted a whole new role, quite brilliantly."

After that, it was quiet as we trudged further up the peak. The sun scorched as the morning wore on. We walked briskly for about five hundred metres before I called a halt, finding some flat rocks and sat down, drinking water from our canisters. Chakotay's pitch black hair was plastered to his face and I guess I looked the same. From Tom Paris, I had learned that Chakotay was a good climber, that they often climbed in holodeck simulations.

"We were best friends," Chakotay gasped, "best everything. One moment we could have a heated discussion on some decision she made, and the next we'd find resolution. Do you know how many times she thanked me for being the voice of reason? And the one time I disappointed her and I felt my world just tumbled about me? She came to my quarters one night and ordered me not to feel any guilt. Best everything… Always we left from a point and no matter how terrible the fights had been, we would return and allow the anger to dissipate. It was like that."

"You treasured that relationship," I ventured.

"It was everything, yet…"

"What - ?"

But before he could speak, he was up, had stashed his canister and was ready to climb further. He nodded, indicating that I lead the way.

"It gets challenging from here," I said.

"Fine by me," Chakotay replied, smiling for the first time. "Go ahead."

I felt relieved that a smile could transform an angry warrior's face. We climbed the next two hundred metres or so where the ascents were getting steeper and rockier. We could take the longer route to circumvent the flat ravine, but it seemed Chakotay accepted the challenge of a dangerous climb. It was a familiar route with bolts already knocked into rock crevices. All that was needed was to hook our ropes through them, slide in karabiners with their 24th century breaking strains of 20kN. Chakotay was tethered to me so that it made scaling safer up the vertical rock face. We had to swing from one end to the other like monkeys. Rourke and I used to scream as we swung across.

"You know your way around here, Ethan," Chakotay heaved as he swung across behind me.

"I've lived here since my parents died. I climb as often as I can manage. Most times Rourke and I climb together."

"Rourke's a great kid. A leader in the making. "

"Thanks. I'm proud of him."

Chakotay paused in his movement and gazed at me strangely. What was he thinking? I wondered. Marriage? Having kids?

Once we were safely transported to a ledge just wide enough for both of us, we relaxed, sat down with our legs swinging over and took very deep breaths. Beneath us yawned the dizzying depths of Coniston Ravine. It was tough, but Chakotay was as experienced a climber as I was. In the distance I could see the ocean, its water clear blue and glistening in the midday sun. We were making good time. By early afternoon we would reach Deer Lake, elevation 1000m. From this point on, it would be mostly climbing.

"I love her, you know?"

The words jumped out of the blue.

"Then why the charade? The games that ultimately proved nothing?"

Chakotay met my gaze, unwavering as he seemed to weigh his next words.

"We were so far from home - twenty three years, to be exact. Kathryn had always made her position clear. About that she never lied. She had the monumental task of getting us all home safely. Under all the bravado, all the playing, the touching as if it meant nothing, the teases that all but drove me insane, Kathryn had a magnificent obsession. I was constantly aware of it. Later it became part of my breathing, my very existence. Yes, it was fine to play, engaging in sex games that - "

Chakotay paused, looked over the vista of Curry County, deeply pensive. Then he looked at me again.

"I had less than stellar relationships on board Voyager…"

He closed his eyes, willing away errant thoughts of a past life.

"I was betrayed by them, made to look the complete fool by trusting them. No one told me to my face but I knew they mocked me behind my back at the time - _Voyager's_ first officer who had bad luck with women, always conned by them. It rankled, Ethan. You're a guy. A woman promises you the earth then takes you for a ride. I thought I’d had enough of that…"

"I understand, perhaps more than you know. I was thinking how unlucky I was with women until I met and married the fey Mélisande. It was an ego thing, to have one's manhood ridiculed."

It was quiet for a while until I got up, realising Chakotay wasn't going to talk again. So we made our way to the top, and while quite rocky, the climbing was much easier so we proceeded faster. By the time we stood on the plateau, we both were breathing heavily and took minutes to reach normalcy again.

Deer Lake gleamed in the afternoon sun. Wild geese skimmed over the shimmering water. Rourke and I had a special spot where we always rested so I headed that way, Chakotay following me, looking around - the water's edge, trees on the far side, tall grass that hemmed our ankles as we walked.

"Tell me," Chakotay began, "you captain a Constitution class vessel, you play the cello quite brilliantly, and you write. I read your _Songs of a Wayfarer_ by the way… Is there anything you can't do?"

I thought how beautifully Marla Gilmore-Rollins played the violin, and B'rog, a Vulcan, who could be a concert pianist.

"If you suppose Starfleet captains should all be accomplished in non-military matters, you have amazing skills yourself, Chakotay. You paint. I…mess."

Chakotay nodded and smiled in acknowledgement of my praise.

"This is very different from Mexico and the Yucatan," he said a minute later. " A very unique experience. You're lucky, Ethan."

" _Repos Ailleurs…"_

"What - ?"

"It means 'rest is elsewhere'."

Chakotay smiled and I wondered how Kathryn could ever have lashed out at this man. It was a smile that lit up his face. There was a world of understanding in his eyes which gradually, unhappily, returned to its former sadness.

"Why did you allow the sex games to continue?" I asked as I opened my ration tray.

Chakotay seemed to struggle with formulating a response. I waited, chewing into a stale biscuit. He seemed more willing to talk now than when I confronted him at the Academy, even as he sought words to frame his response.

"I…have always desired Kathryn. I don't think there was a moment in my life on _Voyager_ that I didn't want her. You know that poem about breathing, by - by…"

"' _I would like to be the air that inhabits you for a moment only. I would like to be that unnoticed and that necessary_.' It's by Margaret Atwood."

"I would have liked to be that for her. I wished a thousand times I could tell her how I felt, how my life was meaningless without her. But always underneath my breathing lurked the knowledge that I could never make myself that vulnerable, not while she was so set on her mission. I…was merely a backdrop for her, you know?"

I smiled at Chakotay's analogy. Mark Johnson said the very same thing before he married my cousin Wanda. Men, Mark said, were merely props in Kathryn's life. It was not a dignified metaphor but somehow it fit the Kathryn who teased Chakotay, gave him crumbs that he was always willing to eat, who spoke about Mark as a safety net. But that was the Kathryn before she fell for her first officer. Like Chakotay, she was just as wary of being vulnerable without the assurance that she could entrust her heart to him. And so they indulged in frivolous games that soon degenerated into serious sexual practices in which one sought to humiliate the other. Chakotay persistently got the short end of the stick.

We sat down on a tree trunk and as always, I breathed in the scenery around me. Chakotay, I noticed, was doing the same.

"I guess Kathryn was not an easy person to love," I said.

"No."

"What happened when you played Velocity?"

Chakotay glanced almost distractedly my way. The sadness lurked in his eyes and I wondered for a moment how Kathryn could have missed it. But then, Chakotay was too angry to care how he continued his association with her.

"She let me win. I actually trained quite hard and enlisted Seven of Nine's help in creating Borg encryptions for a boxing programme so no one knew I was training for Velocity. I hoped she would bite at my suggestion that we have a match. She - " Chakotay paused, wringing his hands like I've seen Kathryn, heard about Neelix, saw Lancelot Mahoney do. "I'd never beaten her before, and then, before I could suggest we play a game, she anticipated my own intention. I won that day. Didn't really feel good about winning. I sensed she was letting me win."

"And so…?

"And that made me angry. Knowing that she let me win. My anger carried into the evening. Since I’d won and she lost a bet, I was going to make her pay for it."

"Will you tell me what happened, Chakotay? The morning after that night?"

Chakotay sank his face in his hands. When he looked at me again, his eyes were red, like he was going to shed tears. He swallowed hard at the lump in his throat, opening and closing his fists this time.

"There is no nice way of saying it, Ethan, what I did that night. There was no decorum, no lovemaking. We fucked, pure and simple."

Then Chakotay's mouth moved as he started his tale of that night… His face looked haggard, not from the climb, but from the misery of bottling all emotion, the need to share his wretchedness with someone who would understand, someone who understood him. The words poured in heated, cleansing freedom from him…

********

**_Voyager_ , two months before they returned home.**

She did everything he demanded of her. He didn't ask for love, neither did Kathryn. No, she was never meek in their coarse joining, but was an active, willing participant. They rarely kissed, wary that kissing would change the rules of the game. If she had any objection to his methods, he all but swaddled them in the black satin sheets he'd wanted for their night of lust. No, he didn't give her any latitude to make suggestions or change the tenor of their unbridled sex.

She had humiliated him enough times that he felt he was simply her tool. He was a man desperate to protect his ego, embarrassed by her in the presence of crew, filled with nothing but shame. He was just as guilty for practically starting their crazy tit-for-tat sexual games in the first place, and before he could offer a heartfelt objection to their catty behaviour, Kathryn had already pounced on him and he felt they'd reached a point of no return.

The game was over. As the night wore on, it had turned sour on him. He desperately wanted just to love Kathryn between the black satin sheets and tell her over and over she was his world, but her cruel smirk in the holodeck, the promise that she would once again have the upper hand incensed him more. And so, he didn't care whether she felt aggrieved at the way he made her beg, made her do things that he knew were beyond her sense of decorum. She wanted him as much as he wanted her. He'd tied her wrists and made her squirm, sought and took whatever she offered for him to plunder, yet she never once objected.

In the early hours of the morning, too tired from their unbridled joining, Kathryn fell asleep. He watched her breathing, her body glistening, half twisted in the black sheets. He dressed quickly, took one last glance at her, then left her quarters. He told himself that what happened would not be repeated, feeling a certain sense of deflation.

It hurt suddenly that what had happened between them was not love…

He wanted it to be, but a demon climbed into his soul and destroyed any good intention that he had. He tried to exorcise the demon and succeeded to an extent. Now he was filled with an immense regret that he had done Kathryn an injustice.

He wanted to make it good, to make it right.

****

He returned to his quarters, the image of a sleeping Kathryn burned upon his brain. He couldn't help himself as wave upon wave of remorse crashed over him. In abject shame, he collapsed to the floor and began wheezing, a momentary fear of dying gripping him. Clutching his chest, he kept breathing slowly until the pain subsided.

"I love her", he murmured to himself, feeling his eyes sting with tears. "It was wrong, wrong, wrong." And then those words were interspersed with, "What have I done to her?"

When he returned to calm, the dastardly manner of his treatment of Kathryn still simmered like a constant boiling pot of sticky liquid. It wouldn't go away , expecially as images of what he'd done to her still flashed with pained regularity. Maybe one day far in the future, it might not hurt as much, but right now he was riddled by shame of his behaviour.

So he got up, showered and was dressed half an hour later, filled with new purpose. He was going to make it up to Kathryn. He was going to go for broke and apologise for the way they’d had sex, ask forgiveness and remain on his knees in front of her until she forgave him.

Because he was going to tell her of his undying love, of his devotion that lived side by side with his living breath. He was wrong. The game was over. He wished to high heaven that they'd never started. He walked purposefully to his wardrobe. On the floor a wooden box sat like a beacon. Many times when filled with hopeless yearning, he'd opened the box and stared for ages upon its contents. Walking back to his bed, he carefully opened it. On the softest bed of velvet he lifted the gold band, briefly separating it from its bigger twin still safely slotted in the black cloth.

Like a precious jewel, the ring rested on his palm.

"For you, Kathryn," he murmured softly.

As he walked to the door of his quarters, a soft ping alerted him. His vidcom beeped. Frowning deeply, he walked back. If it was Kathryn, he was going to tell her instantly, tell her he loved her.

Surprised to see her dressed at 0600, he exclaimed, "Kathryn!"

And before he could speak further, Kathryn lashed out at him.

******************

**The present**

Geese skimmed over the lake, squawking in the light of the setting sun. I found it restful, the stillness that was only sporadically broken.

Chakotay emerged from his account of the night like a man rising from a very dark dream. He covered his face, bent over in abject sorrow and sat like that for so long, I thought he'd decided to stop talking. Then he looked at me with red eyes, skin that had turned sallow as if he'd been ill a long time.

"She - " Chakotay paused, swallowing with difficulty at the lump in his throat. "The ugliest accusations came out of her mouth, Ethan. If she spoke with you, you might know the things she said to me that morning."

"Yes…I know, and I am sorry."

Chakotay shook his head, the memory of that morning terrorising him still.

"She destroyed me, Ethan. I was too shocked to respond."

Then he quoted Kathryn's words, almost verbatim…

_"So I let you fuck me, Chakotay. I gave you an entire night. I guess you enjoyed your debauchery, delighted in your dominance. You won! Did you honestly think you could ever beat me at Velocity? Had to play dumb to let you win. Thought it would be useful to experience how you performed in bed…"_

_Did I spoil you for every female on the ship? Great. I did set some standards there, right? Now you can fuck Seven of Nine and pretend she's me. How would that be? You won your bet, Commander, had me for a satin-sheeted night, but everything else is off the table. Must say, you were an animal last night. Such strength in your penis and thighs. Give that to Seven and a holographic Riley Frazier, even species 8472 Valerie."_

It didn't surprise me that Chakotay remembered every damning word of Kathryn’s. For something that was so unpardonable, it had eaten at him for months and I can could well understand how those vituperations could stay uppermost in his mind.

He covered his face again with trembling hands. I could only imagine how her words cut him to the quick, how he couldn't find his centre again, how he remained in a constant state of anger. He was unwilling to forget and explore the possibility that Kathryn could also, in the minutes after her diatribe, have experienced instant remorse. Like the good officer he was, he channelled his rage, cornered his outrage and allowed the officer in him to step to the fore and act as though Kathryn Janeway had never broken his heart. It was a magnificent attempt to smile in the face of heartbreak and continue his duties as befitting the first officer of the vessel _Voyager_.

I was on my feet, gripping his shoulder that shook with deep emotion. At length, he stopped and turned to face me.

"Thank you, Ethan."

"It took courage, my friend, to tell another man what someone had done to you. I can understand how the crew could sense immediately that something was wrong, you know?"

"My vision quests and visits to Grey Eagle in Mexico didn't help. It has been like a festering sore, what I've held inside me. I feel better."

"Tell me, what happened to the rings?" I asked on a sudden inspiration, remembering that Chakotay spoke about two rings.

Chakotay dug his hand down his shirt front and pulled out a chain containing two rings. I instinctively looked at my own hand without my wedding band. It had burned off during the assimilation process. I touched the rings, finely crafted with their entwining snakes white gold.

"You’ve always had this?" I asked.

"From the time we were stranded on New Earth. I kept them all these years." Chakotay sighed deeply as he placed the chain back.

"What are you going to do now?" It was a question filled with hope. Chakotay looked more buoyant, a new air of purpose about him.

"I honestly need a little time to adjust to feeling different. For months, it has been pressing on me. I guess I needed a tipping point so I could reflect on new possibilities. I want to go away for a short while, after which, who knows?"

Perhaps Kathryn Janeway herself will know. She was ready to act first and that, in my opinion, would be the right thing to do.

"Yes, who knows, huh?"

Chakotay looked around him, hardly aware that a gentle twilight had settled around Deer Lake, that it had also turned a little colder.

"I will have you know I can't start a fire by rubbing two sticks together…"

"No problem, Chakotay," I replied, chuckling. "We're not going to overnight a thousand meters above sea level, nor are we going to descend the mountain."

I retrieved my site-to-site transporter.

"Now why didn't I think of that?" Chakotay said, laughing. He sounded good, much more relaxed and freer from the ropes that had been tied around him so tightly.

Minutes later, we were back at Beaver's Lodge. Chakotay stayed long enough to have supper with me before departing in a shuttle called _Sacajeweya_. I hoped fervently that there would be restitution between Chakotay and Kathryn. I prayed that my method had reaped results. All that had to happen now was for them to knock their heads together, as Gretchen Janeway had said so bluntly, then kiss and make up. My job was almost finished. I took no pleasure in waving a banner that declared "I brought them together". That was the last thing on my mind. I had come to know both Chakotay and Kathryn Janeway, not only through the interviews with their crew and senior officers, but the two leading characters themselves. I even felt bolstered by them, more so as I sensed that a friendship was growing between us.

I stopped playing and returned the cello indoors, just behind the great French window. Then I went back to my office where I proceed the write the final chapters in the saga of Kathryn Janeway and Chakotay.

*********** 

END CHAPTER 9

TBC CH 10


	10. ALL ROADS LEAD TO VENICE

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> Venice!

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> This time, the whole chapter is an excerpt from Ethan's story, written in the third person narrative. It is written entirely in italics.

* * *

_ Ethan Bellamy - The Games People Play - Chapter 17, final draft. _

**_Kathryn Janeway_ **

_Catharses, Kathryn Janeway thought, arrived at precisely the right moments in people's lives. Not an impulse before or one since could equal or better the depth of the emotional release she craved. In a perfect future in which she had a perfect life, that moment of outpouring would stand forever in her memory. Like a puzzle, the pieces moved slowly into place of her newly reset equilibrium. Her mother, her stepfather, her sister were those gentle pieces that shifted around her and formed a support structure she had denied herself before. Her apology to them came with heartfelt humility, her explanation with equal fortitude. Suddenly, her inborn fear of being vulnerable was tempered by the knowledge that her loved ones could be entrusted with things she'd always fiercely protected._

_The reality was that she had not known how completely necessary it was to her continued existence._

_She told them about Chakotay, the man she loved with her whole being, about how they hurt one another and how forgiveness was still so far away._

_Her mother nodded sagely._

_"You have not spoken to any counsellor," her mother said, "yet you are free from the anxiety that plagued you. What has brought this on?"_

_"I owe my newfound centre to someone I imagined to be a complete stranger," was the thought uppermost in her mind. A Wanderer from far lands, a writer who created exquisite music, who had traveled great distances to find himself, possessing qualities that evoked trust in anyone who sought peace. He was to her a Stranger, yet she placed her trust in him._ _._

_"What are you going to do now?" asked Gretchen Janeway who was first to notice the change in demeanour about her daughter._

_Kathryn sat on the white swing seat on the porch, gently swaying back and forth, her gaze fixed somewhere in the distance. She felt a thousand times lighter, after having told her mother and stepfather some details of what had ailed her so wretchedly in the past months. All she could think about was Chakotay and how she imagined she'd prostrate herself before him to beg his forgiveness, knowing that he might reject her, a thought that filled her with quiet wretchedness._

_It all sounded very uncomplicated, the longing to approach him with fearless abandon. At one time, that fear had crippled her to the point that the impulse died before it was given full expression._

_"I'm going to find him, Mother, and bring him to Indiana," she said with quiet conviction._

_*************_

**_Venice_ **

_Chakotay gazed at the painting, frowning a little at some imperfection. Then he lifted the brush and gently stroked it across the chin of the face. He leaned back, smiled grimly and muttered, "Much better…"_

_Great arches graced the old canals of the city of Venice, reconstructed after the floods of the twenty second century. Arches along the narrow waterway extended for about four hundred meters where weak light filtered into the interior of the buildings. Each wall was separated by an arch depicting paintings by modern artists._

_Chakotay was one of a handful of painters using 16th century oils as a medium. He loved his sand paintings, but often he indulged in his other favoured medium for the more thoughtful, classical themes, like his current project. Glancing to his left, two other artists about five arches away were also busy on their creations. His mural would be a permanent addition to the Venice Culture Gallery of wall art. It was quiet, though he could hear the faint lapping of water from the canal, and gloried in the solitude he'd craved for so long._

_Mostly the noise was in his head, always a ratcheting of discordant sounds from which, even as tried, he couldn't break free. There was not a single clear and logical thread that he could isolate which could insinuate itself into his consciousness or at least that would clear a path through the noise. He wanted peace, but only sliver of it was allowed him for the cacophony that constantly upended him._

_He was alone. He felt alone. He had searched everywhere to find someone who could understand his loneliness, his wretchedness, his rage, mostly his rage. So he remained in a constant state of anger._

_Even with her. Especially with her._

_The object of his breathing, his everlasting devotion stared at him from the mural. In a grand burst of emotion, he'd smashed his paints against the wall with great energy. He'd started out with nothing but an idea, a passion, for it had become impossible to purge her completely from his mind. He wanted the unkind woman to cling tenaciously to his memory, one whose grave injustice never left him. He wanted to depict her terrible words on the wall to remind him of her deceit. He thought,in that manner, he could exorcise her heartlessness, an impression that would evoke in the viewer the artist's revulsion of the subject._

_Now a face with a soft, tender mouth and kind eyes stared boldly at him. He had not known how his brush strokes could be gentle as he captured a whisper of a quirk that crept at the corner of her mouth, precisely as though she were alive. Did a Higher Hand determine a different outcome from one he'd imagined? He'd swathed her shoulders in the finest, silkiest white satin, a shawl never meant to be a shawl but sheets that seemed to sail between his fingers at the merest touch. A sudden image of an alabaster body wrapped in black satin sheets imprisoned him a moment only. It was gone in an instant, replaced by the wavy satins around her shoulder, her golden hair curling softly into her neck. The eyes kept staring at him, followed him as he moved about his work. He couldn't escape them…yet instead of his own loathing of what she had done, he welcomed the tenderness, remembered that same tenderness a thousand years ago…_

_The portrait surprised him._

_It was not how he'd meant it to be but he wasn't disappointed by the result. He could look at her now and not feel the crippling shame of so many months that had kept him on his knees. His own complicity in what he'd demanded during their night of lust added to his shame and his regret at what he'd allowed to happen. It was difficult to get beyond that feeling._

_Though not quite complete, the portrait already radiated an allure that even he found hard to resist. One more day and he'd be finished._

_So he kept gazing at his mural and thought of the Dreamer he'd met, the Oracle who saved his life. He had been on a path of damnation, of loneliness and a life without any cheer. He had no way of approaching the object of all his woes and imagine there would be absolution, a mutual pardon and all would be well with the world. He had been determined to feed off his rage, to sublimate any good intention that would ultimately result in more humiliation. He was not ready to be humiliated again._

_"There is a need that prevails in every man, Chakotay, to rest his restless soul. Right now, you embrace the conflict within you because it allows you to conceal your shame, your hatred, your fear of being hurt again…"_

_"How then shall I purge myself of the demons within me?" he asked._

_The Oracle, tall and very slender, with pure white hair and green eyes, met his gaze._

_"It is not easy, but it requires that you tap into your resolve and be courageous. Bravery lies within your heart, but your fear to unleash it is greater at this moment. You must release that fearlessness and allow it to begin the purging of your demons."_

_Chakotay had stood on the dry earth, the heat stifling as he gazed at the Oracle. He closed his eyes and willed Shame and Rage to depart, to leave his body forever so that his healing could begin._

_His healing did begin._

_Smiling to himself, Chakotay gathered his tools and paints, took one last look at the painting before he left for his hotel, a quite charming building next to the canal. He felt good, better than he had in months. Just the finishing touches and he was ready to begin the next phase of what he'd come to call "Courage"._

_*****************_

_Today, Kathryn wore a blue dress with a lacy Peter Pan collar, buttoned from the top all the way down to the hem. Its skirt flared and draped gently about her ankles. Not quite the one she had worn to her heart's content on Terra Nova such a long time ago in the Delta Quadrant, but completely new. She felt good in it, less confined than some of her day wear. The dress was somewhat old-style, more suited to the twentieth century mode of dress - classical yet simple. It was a style favoured these days by many women who put off military attire for a while as a stress reliever and the desire to simply feel the softness of fabric hugging and caressing the body. It was a waiting period, she felt, before donning a uniform again, to be part of a mandatory army of servicemen and -women in the Federation._

_Mostly, she wanted him to see her in the dress, perhaps, in a sense, to approach him without the stricture of command and duty that her uniform would have implied. It was a shedding of reserve, a testament to her new resolve that she approach him without fear that he'd turn her away. She had met the Dreamer who counselled her, from whom she learned that being vulnerable to a person whom she could trust with that feeling was acceptable. He had saved her life; in a torrent of grief and remorse, she had shared her innermost fears, her shameful treatment of a warrior of worth. Her anger had lasted only until she'd uttered the last words of her diatribe, instant remorse too late to eradicate what she'd said._

_"I'll regret it forever" were the words that walked side by side in her daily meanderings through life. Now she needed to share her feelings with Chakotay, hoping that forgiveness would form an integral part of the offering._

_It wasn't difficult to find Chakotay. He was still on leave after Voyager's mission to the Badlands, had vanished for a day or two before she was able to locate him again. His students didn't know where he'd disappeared to, saying that he was only due to train the first year Nova Squadron inductees in two weeks' time._

_Now she sat in a gondola steered by a smiling young man called Ferrando who quite agilely maneuvered the boat through a throng of competing gondolas. It was midday, though the clear sky was somewhat hidden by the little bridges and great umbrellas overhead that seemed to stretch across the narrow canal._

_She experienced repeated nervous twinges at the prospect of meeting Chakotay face to face. She been told by the Venice Cultural Society that he manned one of the arches, that he spent most of the morning and early afternoon there. Once, on Voyager, he'd told her about the city, its beauty, its age, its canals, that one day, when they were home, he'd bring her here. All that was gone now._

_"We are here, ma'am," said Ferrando as he eased to gondola to a stop next to a fliight of steps._

_"Thank you. You don't have to wait…"_

_"Si."_

_*************_

_He gazed intently at the portrait, complete but for a signature in the bottom right corner. He couldn't evade the blue-grey eyes, perfectly shaded and shaped as he remembered her from her laughing days - their days of joy and sunshine, of an old, old memory on Terra Nova where boundaries didn't exist. Her eyes followed him no matter which way he turned. He couldn't decide whether he liked it or abhorred it. Sighing, he began gathering his paints and brushes._

_Then he heard soft footfalls that came to a halt near him. Distracted, he glanced up, then very slowly ’ rose to his feet._

_Kathryn stood there._

_She liked blue, was the thought that entered his chaotic mind. A thousand years ago, it seemed, she had mesmerised him wearing a blue dress. The feelings that had simmered since he had first seen her across his viewscreen on the Liberty had exploded without regard for his celebrated control. He had loved her then as he loved her now. In another thousand timelines and universes, there would be a "him" and a "her" and their fates would always be eternally and inextricably linked. He didn't need to look back at his portrait to know that he was looking at the exact likeness of Kathryn Janeway. In his painted vision, he had created the perfect being, the perfect partner, one in whom no deep blemishes existed, for if they did, only true devotion could pardon them. No, he didn't need to look back, for now, stunningly, he realised that he had passed that point of no return._

_He had been in a very dark place for a long time. Once, his Oracle told him, "Kathryn was in a dark place. You never know. Perhaps she had regrets too…" Only now, he knew how Regret, Remorse, Anger had controlled his life. He'd done her an injustice that night after the Velocity game and had not known how deeply his guilt and regret ate his insides until his conversation with the Oracle. Not once had he even thought that any transformation that occurred, had to happen from within._

_Transformation had happened for her as well. The vision standing before him was a manifestation of it. There was no accusation, no harping on what had gone before, no tones to denigrate. She was here in the flesh, not a portrait against a wall, however perfect that seemed. And the only divergence between real and fiction was in Kathryn's eyes. Not the perfect shade and shape he had recreated, but softer, full of sadness, filled with pain. They were eyes that sought absolution, that begged to be forgiven. They were eyes in which courage warred with fear and courage won._

_He knew that his own eyes revealed the same to her._

_And so Chakotay did the only thing that was necessary in the moment he looked at the woman whom he’d loved for so long._

_"Come here, Kathryn," he invited and opened his arms for her._

_**_

_In the late afternoon, sun streamed into the bedroom and caressed the figures on the large bed. They lay swathed in ivory satin sheets that appeared to hug their bodies. Kathryn lay in semi slumber while Chakotay was braced on his elbow, simply gazing at her. He stroked a part of her skin he imagined he'd not touched before._

_He smiled often, a gentle, loving smile that reached his eyes and he felt the prick of tears at how he loved her in the afternoon. His thoughts strayed to the moment they walked from the arches and murals and portraits to his hotel room with its quaint eighteenth century architecture and furnishings on the top floor._

_He'd held her to him as they walked, unwilling to let there be even one centimeter between them._

_"Chakotay, my behaviour - "_

_He stopped, dropped kisses on her head before reaching her mouth where he paused the longest._

_"It is over, Kathryn. We have inflicted enough hurt on one another. My guilt is great, but we walk a new path. My heart has found forgiveness as I'm sure is reciprocated in yours."_

_And they had remained quiet after that until they stood in front of the great bed with its ornate posters and creamy-ivory bedding._

_"Wait here," he said, looking at his paint-stained hands." I cannot touch your body with these…"_

_Kathryn smiled, leaned forward to kiss him. "Hurry…"_

_By the time he returned, she was sitting on the bed, her legs drawn up under her._

_The loving began._

_Clothes were removed with slow deliberation until her alabaster smooth skin was revealed. His own deep tan formed a sensual contrast. He kissed her skin, reverently caressed her pert breasts with trembling fingers. He was breathless, hardly daring to breathe even as Kathryn gave soft, heady gasps which excited him deeply._

_"I love you, Chakotay," she murmured, her voice low but assured._

_He felt a lump in his throat as he whispered back, "I love you, beloved. Now and always…"_

_It was a lovemaking, a worship of their bodies, a benediction that washed away all that had gone before. Her body was new to him, and he caressed it as if he were touching her for the first time. So they loved, crying out in pain and pleasure. Her body welcomed him with grace and humility, with tearful joy. And Kathryn reached to him, worshipped his flesh with an abandon that seemed to emanate from within her. Their hands roamed, touched, caressed, found avenues and short cuts and cul du sacs that yielded full measure of passion and love. And the moment when their bodies joined was the completion of a journey that had once been laden with thorns and thistles, its destination a dreamlike finale that promised a return to that road as often and as pleasurably as they liked._

_Once, when they rested after their lovemaking, she told him about the baby. They wept together for the what might have been, for her pain, for his pain, and promised that when again they created a unique being together, it would be in love._

_He loved her beyond his own life. She loved him. These exclamations were cried in the heat of their joining and they were repeated in the soft completion when, breathless with joy, they could not help but invoke the heavens for their great fortune._

_So Chakotay watched as Kathryn slowly eased to wakefulness. Late afternoon sun streamed through the window and bathed their bodies in light. In sleep, Kathryn lay gracefully, even as ivory sheets were wrapped haphazardly around her, her movements languid. Right now, her beauty, her courage, humility, strength and every good thing he remembered about her crowded his consciousness and created swirls of warmth that swept through his body._

_One day - and that day might be soon or much later or even near the end of their lives - they would look back on the things that troubled them, conducted in sobering conversations. They would look at those incidents and experience perhaps mild forms of regret, and rejoice that they had turned from those ways at a critical moment in their lives. They would say that while they could never undo what had happened, that those incidents shaped their futures, that they never became complacent about love._

_"Hey…"_

_He awoke from his reverie to see Kathryn staring at him._

_"Sorry… I was just admiring you, so beautiful."_

_"Don't be sorry. You gave my body back to me. I shall always be grateful for that."_

_It was the closest they came to admitting how the games they had played corroded their sensibilities. Kathryn reached for the chain round his neck, caressing the two rings._

_"Tell me about this again," she asked, her voice soft in the aftermath of their lovemaking._

_Chakotay smiled with none of the old anger that had bogged him down so much the past months. He removed the chain from his neck and let the rings rest on his palms._

_"The morning when you comm'ed me, I was going to go on my knees and ask you to marry me," he said soberly._

_"Will you ask me now, Chakotay? You don't have to go on your knees…"_

_But Chakotay made her sit up on the bed, her feet over the side. Then he went on his knees and asked her to marry him._

_*************_

_END CHAPTER 10_

TBC in CHAPTER 11, the FINALE.


	11. THE END OF A PERFECT? YEAR!!!

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> The epilogues!

* * *

CHAPTER 11: EPILOGUE - THE END OF A PERFECT? YEAR!!!

"Today, I choose to trust you instead of

demanding an explanation for what is

happening in my life. Right now I choose

to walk through my fear and step out in faith."

Mary Southerland

**The present - 6 months later…**

**United Kingdom, the ancient Battle of Hastings 1066**

Lancelot Arthur King Mahoney swore he'd tell my Chief Medical Officer how I bragged about always avoiding my medicals on the _USS Oregon_. He'd hold off telling her if I could make my way to the old United Kingdom, to a plot of land that used to be the battleground of the ancient _Battle of Hastings,_ in the year 1066. Yes, as ancient as that.

Here I was, sitting on a replica stand where important people sat while the Duke of Normandy - that be Lancelot's father - fought against King Godwinson played by young Lancelot himself. His mother the queen, dressed as women dressed in 1066, sat next to me and kept up a running commentary on the rules of battle and how happy she was her son had finally agreed to participate in costume play, something which he had hated for years.

"That Lancelot was always looking at the stars. Was never interested in the things that interest us, like a passion for history."

"Well, at school, history was part of the curriculum, wasn't it?"

Queen Madam Arabella Mahoney just nodded, her eyes on jousting and sword fighting.

"If it weren't for you, Captain Bellamy," she continued as she pulled her gaze away from the battle to look at me, "we might never have seen our boy display so much enthusiasm! He spoke a lot about how you inspired him. From the bottom of our hearts, we thank you."

Did she not notice poor Lancelot getting a clobbering from his dad?

"No problem, Mrs Mahoney. I love what you - "

"Oh! Oh!" cried Bella Mahoney, "Lancelot just died by the hands of his father! Oh!"

I couldn't stop laughing at Bella's total consternation. Later when I spoke to Lancelot, he looked ruddy from all the outdoor activity.

"Thank you, sir! Now can I transfer to the Oregon for its next missions?"

"You asked?"

"Oh, yes, Admiral Janeway let me know that there is no way in cat's heaven that you can turn me down."

"Well then, Lieutenant Mahoney, welcome aboard. And no, you _will_ shut your mouth about the new CMO."

"Yes, sir! Thank you, sir!"

**

**The bridge of _Voyager_ \- mission to Proxima Station**

Tom Paris, off duty on _Voyager_ , connected with me via subspace while the _USS Oregon_ was en route to Bajor. Voyager had stopped over at the Proxima Station for several days before returning to Earth. Tom looked chirpy, full of the humour I'd come to know about him. There was none of the serious concern I’d noticed when I interviewed him that first time.

And, he greeted me with the identical words…

"When you're sitting on the bridge at the conn, you develop eyes in the back of your head and ears like bats."

"Bats, huh."

"Yes, bats, since I cannot see what goes on behind me. I use _echolocation_. I've fine-tuned it to an art, Captain Bellamy."

I took the call in my ready room and laughed out loud.

"What can you tell me this time, Tom?" I asked when I could finally speak.

"You know they're married, right?"

"I know. I was there. So was Kjel Y Badr. So…what?"

"How different it is! Janeway and Chakotay…they talk!"

"Of course, they talk. What did they say?"

"It's as embarrassing as before, only this time, very amicable. You could feel the good vibes all over the bridge! Harry, B'Elanna, Hamilton, Seven of Nine, they all felt the good sensations like it was way back before uh…you know, what happened. The viewscreen lights up in a nebula kind of way, see, like before but more personable and sedate. Yes, sedate is a good word. About how they love and swear everlasting devotion. I hear them talk about the babies they're about to make! And, my reputation is at stake when we'll see the - the _fruition_ of that! " Tom began laughing so hard that he almost choked. "Fruition!"

"Wasn't that what you all wanted?" I asked him, unable to keep from chuckling along.

"Oh, yes, so _normal_ to see them sitting with their heads close together. My _echolocation_ malfunctions when they whisper sweet nothings in one another's ears. Too soft, though I can actually _feel_ the vibe, see?" He started with a great guffaw.

That was when the brainstorm hit me. I slapped my head. Tom choked on his laughter again.

"Uh, Tom," I asked, sounding almost feeble-minded as I frowned, "why is _Admiral_ Janeway sitting in the _command_ chair of Voyager? Is she not a _visitor_ on board, roaming the decks like a ghost?"

"Bats ears and _echolocation._ I heard they fired Commander Hoelfgot Hoefstaedter and relegated him to Tuvok's old spot near the ready room door - Security. It was only for the journey here, though. Poor old Hoefstaedter looked like he was going to throw the book at them!"

"You sound happy, Tom!"

"Of course, I am. If it weren't for you, they'd still be leading separate lives. How's the book coming along?"

"Almost finished. My editor will be very happy!"

"Did you tell them?" Tom asked.

"They have an idea that there will be a book about Voyager. They'll get a signed copy from me."

I wasn't going to tell Tom how the work had evolved every time I interviewed a _Voyager_ crewman and officer, or that I'd actually finished the novel. It looked different from my original series of outlines and themes.

"Well, I'll be going then. Been promoted to Commander. Waiting for my request to be approved."

"Good for you. My regards to B'Elanna and little Miral!"

***********

**Almost summertime in Indiana**

They told me to come to Indiana.

Indiana in late spring was quite beautiful. Purple flowers of hundreds of redbud trees were dotted across the state creating a mauve skyline, meshing with the blue heavens. Mélisande would have loved Indiana this time of the year. Purple was her favourite colour. If I didn't stop her, she'd dress poor Rourke and Piers in those shades. These were the times I missed Mel with a deep fondness. It was Rourke who insisted I move on, that starship CMOs don't come cheap, especially the one assigned to the _USS Oregon_. If his buddy James could call Marla Gilmore-Rollins "Mom", Rourke said, it was time the son of Ethan Bellamy called someone "Mom" again. Besides, he reminded me, he liked the _Oregon's_ chief medical officer.

Damn Kathryn Janeway who stuck her pretty nose in by appointing a new CMO to the _Oregon._ I was fine with old Doctor Brendorren who'd decided it was time for him to retire. I guess Command put the old geezer out to pasture in Wyoming. I have a new CMO, and I have a problem with that…it…her…! I'd been summoned by Doctor Katiya Tarasova to sick bay, apparently on the pretext of some emergency. I hadn’t had the opportunity yet to welcome her aboard our vessel as I’d left the task to my first officer. 

"Good morning, Captain Bellamy," the new doctor announced. "I am - "

"I know who you are, Doctor. Why am I here?"

"Your medical. You have avoided one for the past three years. It is vital - "

"Then get on with it. I have a rehearsal to attend."

"In good time, Captain," she responded, the slight Russian tinge to her accent becoming pronounced the more assertive she became.

So I sat on the biobed and let her have her way with me. I accessed her attributes with all the latent Borg residue in my head that still plagued me eleven years after my transformation from Borg to human. Her medical accomplishments were impressive, gained at several universities and a science qualification from the Vulcan Science Academy. At forty two years of age, beauty was but a vague assessment of Katiya Tarasova. She was stunning, aging into remarkable youthfulness in her forties. While her rich brown hair, which I was certain was incredibly long, was tied in a chignon, little glints of fire shot off wisps that strayed from behind her ears. Her eyes were a startling blue, her mouth somewhat severe, though that would surely change once she smiled. She never smiled the entire time her tricorder and hand scanner swept over my face, neck and head, and would I not notice that she held those instruments with the longest, thinnest fingers I've seen in a human? 

"I've studied your medical files, Captain. You have retained some Borg sensors - "

"It was impossible to remove my cortical array without endangering my life. It's operating at extremely low if negligible efficiency."

"How often do you access it, Captain Bellamy?"

"That is none of your business, Tarasova!"

And that was when I got up and abruptly left sick bay. No Russian doll, however beautiful, was going to get into my head. Damn Janeway and that son of mine wanting to set me up with a partner. I have managed to avoid the good doctor, though I did later apologise for my boorish behaviour. However, I refused to explain my so-called Borg life. Admirals Nechayev and Paris and his dear wife Elizabeth were the only ones privy to that part of my life. And, of course Rourke and my sweet cousin Wanda who married Kathryn's erstwhile fiancé, Mark Johnson.

I was brought to the present when I almost slipped off the embankment into the water of a lovely stream flowing through the Indiana property of Janeway and Chakotay. I'd gone by the great farmhouse first. It seemed deserted. A month ago, Kathryn informed me that her mother and Admiral Ponsonby had relocated to Northern California, leaving the homestead to her eldest. Phoebe lived in Paris and regarded Bajor as her second home. Kathryn and Chakotay were now the legal owners of the farm.

I headed slowly for the great tulip tree near the end of the property. That was where Kathryn and I had had the conversation that revealed so much about what had happened between her and Chakotay. I could see the top of the tree in the distance, then the beautiful gated grave plot came into view. I guess Kathryn's decision to meet with me at the tree was where she had had such a cathartic experience that she'd shared with me. At the time, I was a relative stranger to her, and to share her most intimate trials to me took immense courage.

There was a giant gazebo next to the great trunk with patio furniture straight out of a twentieth century catalogue. I sensed Tom Paris' inspiration there. I wondered how a perfect picnic spot could be situated so near to a gravesite, however beautiful the grave was. Kathryn Janeway was the last person, I believed, to be troubled by the juxtaposition of life and death.

When I joined them, they both looked up after seeming to be in deep conversation as Kathryn held up a book.

Not really a book in the strictest sense. My manuscript, _The Games People Play_ , not seen by anyone except the two individuals sitting at the table. I'd tried to temper my nerves at how the story would be received. Since I’d received the hail from Chakotay while still at Beaver's Lodge, my trepidation had increased. I'd sent them the manuscript days earlier in a "Don't worry, just transport it to the dining room table, Ethan" request from Kathryn. After that, I kept striking discordant notes on my Kahlmeyer that Rourke would inherit one day. Boccherini never sounded so terrible. And Rourke had given me a few jaundiced looks, like I sounded decidedly amateurish to him. Their opinion of my work bothered me more than I cared to admit!

"Well?" I asked as I joined Kathryn and Chakotay at the table, surprised to see a full decanter and a glass. And who was Ethan Bellamy to resist a healthy glass of whiskey so freely offered?

I studied them briefly, noting a certain fear in their eyes.

"This is our story," Kathryn said softly, glancing at Chakotay, her expression full of love.

"It is deeply personal, Ethan," Chakotay added. "We were under the impression this would be a normal story of _Voyager_ battling all manner of adversity in the Delta Quadrant."

"You have tricked us - " Kathryn managed to look accusingly at me, although I could see it was tinged with some humour.

I took one large gulp of whiskey and allowed it to burn into my system. They were wary. The content was extremely personal and I understood their trepidation. As a writer, I took pride in my work, most of which was created by my insatiable thirst for storytelling, created out of practically nothing and relying on my skills to impart real, every day themes. But _The Games People Play_ was different. I had all the material handed to me on a plate with the participants willing to convey many, many things about _Voyager's_ command team, and that very command team heroically telling me what hurt and troubled them most.

"I asked that you trust me. Both of you."

"That you did," Kathryn said. "The novel is quite sensational, you know?"

My heart warmed at that. She took the manuscript, paged to a certain section and began reading…

*******************************

_He had been in a very dark place for a long time. Once, his Oracle told him, "Kathryn was in a dark place. You never know. Perhaps she had regrets too…" Only now he knew how Regret, Remorse, Anger controlled his life and he had not once considered that any transformation that occurred, had to happen from within._

_Transformation happened for her as well. The vision standing before him was a manifestation of it. There was no accusation, no harping on what had gone before, no tones to denigrate. She was here in the flesh, not a portrait against a wall, however perfect that seemed. And the only divergence between real and fiction was in Kathryn's eyes. Not the perfect shade and shape he had recreated on a Venice wall, but softer, full of sadness, filled with pain. They were eyes that sought absolution, that begged to be forgiven. They were eyes in which courage warred with fear and courage won._

_He knew that his own eyes revealed the same to her._

_And so Chakotay did the only thing that was necessary in the moment he looked at the woman whom he had loved for so long._

_"Come here, Kathryn," he invited and opened his arms for her._

*****************************

Kathryn's eyes filled with tears. Chakotay's hand covered hers. I felt a sudden rush of envy seeing them together, like this, so close and so _happy_.

"It happened exactly as you wrote it, Ethan. Just like that."

"You made us see the error of our ways," said Chakotay. "There were times I felt downright embarrassed and ashamed." He paused. "How did you know?"

 _My imagination_ , I wanted to retort, but thought the better of it.

"I sensed it, mainly. You okay with the book?"

There was a heavy pause following my question. I saw the flash of fear in their eyes. The book was revealing, laying bare extreme intimacies. Both Kathryn and Chakotay were very private persons whom I'd come to know in the last year. We had become friends and I had attended their wedding. I'd worked doubly hard on the private novel the last eight or nine months while writing a Voyager novel at the same time.

"I wrote a standard Voyager novel, the one the world, I guess, wants to see and read, to feed their undying curiosity," I told them. "That manuscript is already in the hands of my editor, Kjel Y Badr in Austria. It will be published around Christmas time in all formats."

I paused, put my empty glass down, feeling slightly dizzy from drinking a second glass of whiskey in the space of half an hour.

"Well?" they chorused.

"This manuscript," I said, pointing to the one lying open at the pages from which Kathryn had read her excerpt, "this one is yours. Not for publication. Let me repeat that: not for publication. For your eyes only. It is my gift to you for your magnificent courage in sharing your most sacred moments with me."

They both breathed a huge sigh of relief. Kathryn closed the book which I'd bound in leather with a gold embossed title, caressing the cover before clutching it to her bosom. Chakotay smiled indulgently, gently pushing a stray hair behind her ear. Such an intimate moment, witnessing what the entire crew of Voyager had dreamed of seeing.

"It's so good to see you two supremely happy," I said.

"Thank you, again," Chakotay said.

Then Kathryn glanced at something behind me, someone walking towards us. I didn't bother to follow her gaze, debating on whether the rest of the whiskey should remain untouched

"Oh, good, she's finally arrived."

Then I glanced round. I gawked as Doctor Katiya Tarasova approached us, walking as if she were on air. Floating, her glorious dark brown hair cascading over her bosom and shoulders. What the hell was she doing here? Didn't they know I disliked her fiercely. More than fiercely? She wanted to get into my head, for God's sake!

"It's your turn, Ethan," Chakotay said with an enigmatic smile. "Payback…"

I grabbed the decanter, poured my glass to the brim and began gulping.

"I have got to be drunk for this one," I said as Katiya Tarasova planted herself right next to me.

**********

END


End file.
